by K Carr
That comment tore a deep, smug laugh from my husband. He kissed my temple before stepping away. With a hand on his aroused dick, he abandoned his quest to get me naked and on all fours, because that was the only position he could get me in at this stage in my pregnancy which was remotely comfortable.
“I guess I should go sort this out myself then,” he mused. “All by myself. Just me. All alone.”
“Maybe you should pray about it,” I said with a sweet smile and got a semi-fierce scowl in return. Pushing my luck, I added, “Besides, doesn’t your faith say you’re never truly alone? Isn’t God with you now and always? Keeping watch?” I glanced pointedly at his erection.
“Jen!” Connor huffed and covered himself with both hands. “You’re so wrong for that. I’m definitely going to pray for you today. Your mind is just,” he huffed again, shaking his head in disappointment. “Gutter.”
“What?” I sucked my teeth. “You were the one trying to poke me a few seconds ago. How is my mind a gutter?”
“Mucky.” he added while fighting to keep the scowl on his face. He hurried over to grab some boxers from the dresser and quickly pulled them on. Christians had weird hand-ups. Or maybe it was just him.
A yawn caught me by surprise and our bed suddenly looked warm and inviting. “Meh. I don’t need your tots and pears.” I said as I turned back to our bed and crawled in. “We won’t be here when you get back from church.” I pulled the thick duvet cover over my head and snuggled into a comfortable position.
Less than ten seconds later, the bed dipped and the duvet cover was lifted as Connor slipped into bed. “You look cute,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around my stomach. “All snug and warm in here.”
“Mmm,” I wriggled back until we were snugly aligned and covered his hand which laid across my belly with my own. “Weren’t you getting ready for church?”
Connor kissed the back of my neck. “I’m thinking,”
“Thinking what?” My eyelids closed.
Connor wriggled his hand free from under mine and began slowly stroking my tummy. “Thinking maybe I should go shopping with my girls,”
“Huh?” I cracked an eye open and tried to twist around so I could see his face but it took too much effort and like a beached whale I flopped back into my original position.
“To help with the bags,” Connor explained.
“But we don’t need your help.”
“Mmm,” His hand slipped under my top, inching up to cradle my breast. “You might.” Connor nuzzled my shoulder. “And things have been so busy at work the past week – what time did I get home yesterday? Five? Half five on a Saturday? Anyway, I feel like we haven’t spent much time together this week and I miss my girls,” He pressed a light kiss on my shoulder.
“You’ll be outnumbered,” I reminded him then yawned loudly. My eyes were heavy.
The hand which had been fondling my boob slid down to my tummy. “Not for long,” Connor said softly. I could feeling him smiling against my shoulder. “We haven’t talked about names yet, Jen.”
“I know.” I murmured.
I was tired, and physically uncomfortable in my body, but now I was uncomfortable in my thoughts. The therapy helped, it helped a lot. Connor had been right from the start about marriage/grief counselling and I still felt guilty I hadn’t given it a fair chance at the beginning. Maybe if I had stuck it out like he begged me to, things would be – Inhale. Exhale. Our therapist’s words danced in my head, reminding me to be gentle with myself and my past behaviours, to accept the emotions I felt back then were valid to me. Not right or wrong, just my truth which I had to work through.
Perhaps he’d heard something in my voice, but Connor didn’t press the baby name issue. Instead he returned to our initial conversation. “You said something about a home birth,”
Taking my time, I completed the arduous task of turning around to face him. Urgh. I was four weeks away from my due date. This pregnancy was dragging. “My labour is usually stressful,”
“Yeah,” Connor snorted and propped up his pillows so he could be at my eye level. “Remember with Meggie you were in active labour at the hospital then everything slowed down and you couldn’t stop crying because you thought you were close to the end but it dragged on for a few more hours?”
I nodded.
“It was your first time giving birth and we were scared shitless. Hell, I snuck away to the bathroom and had a mini panic attack the moment your Mom arrived.” A whimsical smile curled up the edges of his mouth. “And with Cory it took you forever to get fully dilated.” He stroked my cheek. “You were so frustrated you begged me to tell the doctors you wanted a C-section, but your Mom was there to remind you how much easier it was to recover post-labour if you did it the natural way like you had with Meggie. Remember my parents had Meggie and mom kept calling me to check if he’d been born yet. I told her we would call when he arrived and she still phoned every half an hour.”
“Yes,” I whispered and swallowed the lump that appeared in my throat. “I just don’t want the-” I paused to shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just,” Again, my words came to a halt. I had been thinking about this for the past few days, and the underlying reason why I wanted to do this filled me with a range of emotions from grief to hope.
“It’s scary,” Connor said. “I don’t know if we should take the risk, sweetheart.”
I frowned, not at him, but at my inability to clearly explain why I was thinking of this option.
“I mean,” Connor moved up a bit so he was sort of propped on his pillows. “It’s your choice,” It was obvious he had seen the frown and assumed it meant I was unhappy with him pointing out the risk factor. “And you’re healthy, it’s not a complicated pregnancy.” He looked away. “But I would feel much happier with you giving birth at the hospital,” Connor’s blue eyes returned to my face as he tried to read my expression. “Where it’s safe, in case anything does in fact go wrong. There are doctors, medical equipment – it’s just safer at the hospital, Jen.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry but that’s how I feel about it.”
I nodded. “I know.” It was understandable, him holding the staunch belief that a hospital birth was the safest option. Most people did, I did…except I didn’t want a hospital birth this time around. I wanted, no I needed it to be here. Taking a deep breath, I began to try to explain something I wasn’t fully sure of myself, I just knew it was what I wanted despite the risks. “But I still want to do it.”
Connor pushed the covers down and moved himself into a sitting position. “Why?” I could hear the frustration in his tone as he ran a hand over his face. “Jen, honey, have you actually looked into this?” He realized in sitting up he had created a gap in the covers and tucked it back around my shoulder.
“Of course,” If I sounded defensive, it was because his damned question and tone had offended me.
“Really?” His arched eyebrow, the disbelieving cadence laced through the word, the scrutiny I found myself the recipient of – he didn’t, not for one second, believe I was making an informed decision.
“Yes, really,” I snapped back. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything when he came out the en-suite after his shower. “Just, hmph, why don’t you just go to church or something?”
I flounced over, giving him my back and immediately regretting the abrupt movement. I should’ve done it slowly, now my damned back was twinging. Connor didn’t say anything. The only sound in our bedroom was my angry breathing. Short, loud huffs of air. Then I felt his hand on my nape, lightly rubbing the bones of my neck before his fingers worked their way over to my shoulder. He remained silent while his hand alternated between my neck and shoulder, gently rubbing, the right amount of pressure. After a while, he let out a long and tired sigh.
“Jennifer,” he called.
I was somewhere between hurt and fuming, and fully aware the last week my emotional state had been unbalanced. Yesterday I had a stink eye ‘don’t make me come over there’ moment with Meg, al
l because she had made a little cheeky quip. She was being a kid and I almost snapped at her. Pregnancy was a beautiful, complex and ultimately terrifying experience…and this was my third time around.
“Come on, Jen,” Connor kept rubbing my shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Unwilling to face him, I buried my head in the pillow. He made an unhappy sound and the gentle pressure of his hand vanished from my shoulder. There was movement and I squeezed my eyes shut as I listened to him get off our bed. Good. With this current tiff happening, he would probably return to his original intent of attending church. Connor would get dressed then go downstairs and make himself a quick breakfast before heading to his church. And I could fume in bed until Meg woke up. The service didn’t actually start until 8:45, but he liked arriving beforehand to help out if needed.
Fuck it. I would do what I wanted. This was my choice.
The noise of him moving around the room got nearer and I felt a dip in the mattress in front of me. I cracked one eye open to see his unamused face peering back at me. The fact he had gotten off our bed to walk around it and climb back in on the side I was facing made the edges of my mouth quiver. He was such an idiot.
“Talk,” he commanded softly while curving his hand over my hip.
A sweet idiot. One who was patiently waiting for me to speak. I huffed again, realizing that I was being an idiot and not the sweet kind like my husband.
Connor raised himself up in order to tug the covers from under him, then scooted under the covers next to me. “Any time you’re ready, Jen.”
With both eyes now opened, I confessed the reasoning behind my thoughts. “I just want a happy memory, Connor.” His expression twisted into a confused frown and I suddenly felt weepy. Taking a deep breath, I continued. “I want us to have a happy memory here, at home.”
Still looking confused but trying to give me unwavering support, he lightly rubbed my hip. “What do you mean, sweetheart? We have loads of happy memories here.”
“And a really terrible one which ruined-” I gulped, feeling myself starting to tear up. “Almost ruined everything.” Almost had to be added, I was glad I had corrected myself because we were finally on the other side of what would always be a soul-destroying fracture in our lives.
“Jennifer,” his voice had dropped even lower and he sighed.
“I can’t see past it,” I said, stopping him from saying whatever he planned to say. “I can’t think past it. Everything, all the happiness, all of that is,” I sniffed and tried to fight the trembling which was beginning in the corners of my mouth. “It’s all hidden behind what happened to Cory,” The tears flooded my eyes. I couldn’t stop them even if I tried. “Here. It happened outside, on this street, by our home – it’s all tainted. I hate that I can’t go all the way down the street, that everything in this house reminds me of the fact he’s not here anymore,” I started shaking my head when Connor opened his mouth to speak. “No, I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want us to move, to sell our home. I can’t leave here, I don’t want to. Do you understand? I don’t want to leave our home but it’s all wrapped up in…the colours have changed. Does that make sense? It’s grey, all the happy memories are grey. Does it make sense to you? I just want to put some colour back in our home. I want a new happy memory, I just want,” My words came to an abrupt end and I turned my face into the pillow, hiding my tears. Did it make sense him? It did to me. All my happy memories in this house had been covered over in grey, muted, no longer fully accessible. Maybe if I had this new baby here, maybe the colours would come back.
“Hey,” Connor called as he reached up to try and ease my face out of the pillow. “Jen, hey, look at me. Come on, babe. Just,” He tried to push the pillow downwards in order to see me but I stuck my face deeper into the softness. Connor’s exhalation was one of frustration. “I get it. Ok? I get it.”
Slowly I raised my head to regard him from suspicious eyes. Did he really understand or was he just saying he did to appease me?
He swiped a thumb over my right cheek, smoothing away some of the moisture. “I get it.”
I sniffled and pulled myself into an upright position. “You’re not just saying that to shut me up?”
Connor snorted before sending me a little smile as he shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’m worried, Jen.” He rubbed his face and squinted at me. “And I’m scared. Having the baby here…I don’t know. What if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t,” I assured him.
“It might,” he countered with a disbelieving bark of laughter. “Jen, come on. At least allow me the space to be fucking scared.”
When he started talking like a therapist I could never stop the urge to roll my eyes. But he was right. And things were better because we did go to therapy. I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand and started fiddling with the covers which were resting on my tummy.
“I’m scared too,” I admitted. “But I still want to do it.”
Connor scowled ferociously at me before he let out a frustrated grunt. Then he ran a hand over his face and said, “Fine, I guess if you truly want to do this,”
I started smiling and his scowl deepened.
He pointed a finger at my smiling face. “But only after we get the ok from the doctors, and if there’s even the hint of anything going wrong, you’re going straight to the hospital.”
“Ok.”
“And I get to put up the Christmas tree early this year.”
“What?” I peered at him as if he was crazy. Christmas was a few months away. “I don’t – why are you talking about Christmas trees?”
Connor lightly tapped me on the nose with his finger. “I thought we were negotiating. The Christmas tree going up early is one of my terms.”
“How early?” I had the foresight to ask. “And isn’t it bad luck to have it up early?”
“Nope,” Connor kissed the tip of my nose. “It’s bad luck to keep it up after the 5th of January, which is the twelfth night. Then you have the Epiphany on the 6th.”
“Tiffany?” I squinted at him. “Who the hell is Tiffany and why does she care if the tree-” I broke off in a yelp as Connor reached around to smack my ass.
He then gently rubbed the spot he had hit and pursed his mouth at me. “Have you talked to your mom about this? What does Rose think?”
I slowly shook my head as his expression got fiercer. “I was going to mention it today when we were shopping.”
Connor huffed loudly before leaning forward and kissing me squarely on the mouth. “If your mom freaks out about it then I’m changing my mind too.”
“But you just said you’re ok with-”
“No,” he rushed to his defence. “No. No, Jen. I said if the doc is ok with it then I’ll go along with your wishes but any sign of problems and we’re heading straight to the hospital.” He narrowed his blue eyes at me. “And I’m adding on another caveat. If Rose freaks out about it, I will too, then I’m allowed to retract my agreement to this,” he paused, carefully considering his words it seemed. “If I say hare-brained scheme will you be offended?”
I nodded and he sighed. Touching his chest, I reminded him, “You know my mom is going to support me no matter what,”
“Even at the expense of your life?” His scepticism was perfectly conveyed. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. If Rose doesn’t support this I’m siding with her.” He shrugged. “I’m just letting you know from now.” Then his facial expression went scarily blank as he held my gaze. “You know black women have a higher mortality rate than other women during pregnancy and childbirth.”
I nodded. I did know that upsetting fact.
Connor didn’t say anything for at least a minute. “I swear on all that is holy, if you even sneeze the wrong way we’ll be going to the hospital,”
I didn’t have the heart to explain to him the disparity of serious complications of death between black mothers and white during childbirth was mainly based on data from hospital births. If I even mentioned th
e data concerning homebirths was slightly woollier, he might have a complete freak out.
“It’ll be fine,” I assured him. “Plus we still have time before my due date for you to get used to the idea.”
He grunted in response.
“It’ll be fine,” I repeated with conviction. Then I sent him a little smile and tried to get him fully on board by dangling a very enticing offer in front of him. “And maybe I’ll let you choose the name.”
He narrowed his eyes at me even as his mouth waged battle with a burgeoning grin. “Ugh, you are such a devious little-”
I leaned over to kiss his jaw, causing his words to morph into a grumble of disbelief and begrudging amusement. I kept peppering that side of his face with light kisses.
“I like Luke,” he murmured while I kissed the edge of his mouth. “Out of all the names we can choose for him, it’s my favourite.”
I leaned back slightly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Because it’s in the bible?”
He mirrored my squint, moved in to kiss my lips then pulled back. “You know, sometimes I wonder if it was the lack of blood in my head,”
“What?” I cocked my head. What was he talking about?
Connor slowly shook his head. “Way back when we started dating right after Lala’s Valentine’s party-”
“Hanging out,” I corrected and watched him fight the grin.
He exhaled long and hard before continuing. “When we started dating, my dick was always hard whenever I was around you, when I spoke to you on the phone, shit, just thinking about you made my dick hard.”
I smiled, pleased and nodding to myself; then remembered men in general held loose morals and their hard dicks were two – no, ten a penny. Sluts.
Connor snorted. “The lack of blood to my head-”
I made a mocking noise at the back of my throat before immediately pointing out, “It went to your head alright, just not the one you use for thinking.”
Again he exhaled, but he had lost the battle against his grin. Running a hand over my hip, he mused, “That lack of blood to my brain must be the only explanation why I fell in love with a damn heathen.”