Forever (This #5)

by J. B. McGee

  “That first trimester is brutal. I know it’s hard to believe, but it gets better. Hang in there.”

  “You have no idea. I have no clue how I’m going to handle classes.” She pauses. “Sam, I’m terrified. What if I don’t finish? What if Bradley turns out to hate me pregnant? What if he starts drinking all the time and turns into a deadbeat dad, and I’m left with this baby all by myself? I promised Mom…”

  “Gabby. You know what else is insane during the first trimester? Well, the second and third too.”

  “What?”

  “Your hormones. You’re making a baby. Another human life. All its cells, organs, every piece of tissue is being made solely by your body.”

  I hear her sniff. “I cry all the time, Sam. I go in the bathroom, turn on the water, and pretend to shower while vomiting and crying.”

  “Oh, Gabs.”

  “I’m so glad I told you. Keeping it to myself would have never been an option, and I’m glad we were together in person and it wasn’t over the phone.”

  “So, you haven’t told anyone else?”

  “No, Bradley should be the next to find out. And not being able to talk to you all week has made me feel so alone. The secret has been eating me alive.”

  “I’m honored. You’re going to be a great mother. Bradley’s going to be the best dad you could ask for, and you’re going to finish school. Or else I’m going to kick his ass myself for all this.”

  “So how should I tell him, then everyone else? I know I just said we’d tell everyone on Christmas, but this article on a baby site says I should wait until the end of this first trimester. Should we?”

  “I think you should ask Bradley if he wants to wait. That should be something you decide together. Some couples like to have a few months where it’s their secret—their bond. Some worry about miscarriage, since that’s the riskiest time, and wait until they pass that mountain. Others can’t wait to tell the world.”

  “Bradley will want to tell the world.”

  “I think so too, but let him tell you that.”

  “He’s going to be pissed you know first.”

  “He won’t be surprised. And if he’s pissed, he’ll get over it.”

  “We’ve still not decided how to tell him. And I’m about to fall asleep.”

  “Oh my gosh. I have the perfect idea!”

  It’s been three hundred and thirty-six hours since I’ve seen Joe’s face, heard his voice, or read his words. There’s a slight part of me that wonders if he’s making me wait to show me what it was like for him after the ultimatum, but that’s just cruel. I really did think I was making the right choice at the time. For him, he probably does too. Christmas is a week away, and I was really hoping we would’ve spoken before seeing each other again that day at Bradley and Gabby’s.

  My current attending works me like a dog. I’m so beyond hungry most days, I feel too sick to eat when I finally have the chance. Last week, the exhaustion was a fraction of what it is now. I make my way to the on-call room in hopes of grabbing just a little bit of shut-eye. Rumor has it Ryan’s returned to Macon, but he’s not coming back to work until after the New Year because of his broken legs. Being in this room reminds me of our time together. It should have been more obvious to me we weren’t right. I wanted it to work so badly, but even as much as I did, it’s nowhere near how much I’m craving Joe.

  I pull my phone from the pocket of my scrubs like I’ve done so many times before over the last three hundred and thirty-six hours and stare at his messages. The last one I sent about waiting is the most recent text. He never wrote me back.

  Asshole.

  No matter how conflicted I was, I never ditched him. Well, the night of the ghost tour doesn’t count. He gave me a fuckin’ ultimatum. I’m pissed my language has even changed since I’ve known him. How dare he do this to me? We’re family whether we want to be or not, and he can’t avoid me forever or pretend I don’t exist.

  My finger taps the phone icon by his name. It rings twice, then goes to voicemail.

  I hang up and call back immediately. Maybe if he sees me calling back to back, he’ll think it’s about his brother. Kinda wrong considering the circumstances, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It doesn’t ring this time. It cuts straight to his voice, which shoots shivers all the way to my core, and I decide to listen.

  “Hey. It’s Joe. Leave a message after the beep. But if you really want me to call you back, you’ll send a text because I don’t ever check this damn thing. That’s so nineties.”

  My lips curve into a smile and I burst into tears. It’s a delirious, too tired, too hungry, angry, hurt cry. I press end and throw my phone into my lap. “Fuck you, Joe. Fuck. You.” I sob. “You promised if you got me, you’d do everything in your power to keep me. You’re an asshole.”

  I bury my head in my hands and let the tears soak the cotton of my scrubs. A few seconds pass and I hear a beep. My hands fumble for the phone.

  “Your message has been sent. Goodbye.”

  Oh no! My sobs turn to giggles. “Serves him right.”

  As I come down from my hysterics, my eyes finally become too heavy to hold open. My head falls backward onto the pillow, and I replay that one afternoon at the lake house until we got the call about Ryan. Then, I drift off to sleep.

  Sam came into town about an hour ago. I have the perfect way to tell Bradley tomorrow about the baby, but he’s been parked on the couch all day, so I’ve not been able to hide the camera I plan to use to record the moment.

  When I get up to go to the bathroom, I use the opportunity to summon my sister. “Sam!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you come here a minute?” I peek down the hall. Bradley is unfazed. In fact, I’m not even sure he cares we’re in the same house as him. Men and their football.

  “Be right there.” She comes down the hall, her eyebrows crumpled. “What’s up?”

  I pull her into her room and shut the door. “I need to get the camcorder set up for tomorrow morning, but he will. Not. Move.”

  She smiles. “Have him go get us food. What are you craving?”

  I stick my tongue out and pretend to vomit. “Nothing. Everything sounds disgusting. Ginger snaps have become my manna.”

  “What if I run to the store to get stuff to bake cookies, but forget something on purpose, and we send him back out. The stores are still open for another hour or two, right?”

  “Baking. It fixes everything?”

  She nods. “That’s the idea.”

  “Joe got your message. Something about a bunch of fuck yous and asshole.” She giggles. “Have you spoken to him?”

  She shakes her head. “He’s been giving me the silent treatment. Honestly, I’m so furious with him, I could scream. He’s acting like a child.”

  “Men. I think he’s missing you.” I plop down on the bed.

  “What makes you say that?” she asks, a little too eager. “I mean, he’s ignoring me.”

  “Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s waiting until you get back here for Christmas so he can sweep you off your feet.”

  She bursts out laughing. “This is not a chick flick or romance novel. If it were, he would have been waiting in my apartment five hundred hours ago. Your two week prediction was horribly wrong, by the way.”

  I shrug. “I’m sorry. But I’ve seen him. He’s looked like crap most days. And by crap, I mean bloodshot eyes. And I should add rank smells. I’m not sure he’s showering much. The only medicine for him is you, I think.” I hug a pillow as Sam starts to pace back and forth. “So, about Bradley. You gonna go buy cookies or am I? Please say you will because this bed is so comfortable, I could sleep for the rest of the night right here.”

  She grabs my arm and pulls me. “No. Get up. You are not sleeping in my bed tonight, even if it is technically your bed.”

  I toss the pillow behind me and stand. “I’m so tired of being tired.”

  “I’ll go to the store. But you can’t fall asleep
before I get back. You have like fifteen hours to hold it together before your husband finds out you’re with child.” She does some weird hand gesture. “At that point, he’ll be doting on you constantly. You won’t have to do anything. Don’t blow it tonight.”

  “You’re right. I’m going to go clean for tomorrow. That’ll keep me busy.”

  She smiles. “Your house is immaculate already. What are you gonna clean? The baseboards?”

  I shrug. “Maybe I’ll just cook whatever doesn’t make me feel like I’m going to puke all over it.”

  “Sounds appetizing. I could bring home take-out.”

  I point to her. “Yes. Chinese actually doesn’t sound disgusting surprisingly enough.”

  “Chinese it is. Too bad you can’t have wine. How have you managed to get away with that around him?”

  “I told him I was considering his proposition of making a baby, and it’s not good to drink when you’re trying.”

  Sam’s brows rise. “Smart, baby sister.”

  “Not bad, huh?”

  “Okay.” She kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  “Dang it.” I exaggerate my words and speak them extra loudly. “Bradley.”

  “Yeah?” He’s still on the couch, watching some game.

  “We’re out of milk. Can you run to the store to get us more?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” I hold the empty jug up to where he can see it.

  “There was like a quarter of a gallon in there earlier.”

  “I had to use it for casseroles.” Then I poured the rest of it down the drain. “Now, I don’t have any for my baking.”

  “Can it wait? This game’s almost over.”

  “The stores are gonna close soon, and what if they’re out?” Okay, I do feel sort of bad for letting the milk slide down the drain in order to get him to go to the store so now he’s going to miss the ending of the game he’s been watching for hours.

  “Can’t Sam go back out?”

  Oh no. We didn’t even think about that as an option. Sam rushes to the bathroom. “I’m not feeling so well. Can you please go?”

  He gets up, but his eyes never leave the television. “Yeah. I’m going. Do you need anything else?”

  Geez. Just you to leave already, but I don’t say that. “I don’t think so. I’ll call if I forgot something.”

  He kisses me on the cheek. “This is true love, you know?”

  “I know. Thanks for sacrificing the ending of your game.”

  He shakes his head. “Not the game. Going to the store at the last minute on Christmas Eve. That place is gonna be a madhouse.”

  “Ha. I can think of a few ways I can reward you later.”

  He smirks. “You’ve been asleep every night by about eight o’clock. I’ll hold you to it. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweets.”

  It’s Christmas Eve. I haven’t been drinking caffeine since I found out I was pregnant, but maybe one cup won’t kill me. “I won’t be asleep that early tonight. You have my word.”

  He splays his hand against the small of my back and pulls me close to where I can feel all of him. “Chaos can’t wait.” He leans down and kisses me, then walks away. I can’t help but giggle.

  When he’s gone, I run to the bathroom and knock. “Hey, that was brilliant. Worked like a charm. You can come out now.”

  Sam opens the door and wipes her mouth and nose. My eyes widen. “You were really sick?”

  She nods. “I took a test yesterday.”

  I cover my mouth and squeal. “Are you serious? We’re pregnant at the same time?”

  Her lips curve up a little. “We better go set that up before he gets back.”

  “Wait. Is it Ryan’s? Does he know?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s Joe’s. Ryan and I couldn’t get on the same schedule last month. The one time we had a chance, I chose to sleep. The day before I was with Joe actually.”

  “Oh.” Dang. And he’s not speaking to her. “What are you gonna do? How are you going to go to school, be pregnant, then have a baby?”

  A tear drips down her cheek. “I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t talk about it without crying, so let’s not discuss it, please. Where’s that camcorder?”

  We walk back in the living room, and I take it from a drawer I’d been hiding it in. “These things are going to be obsolete in a few years. Our kids aren’t going to know what they are.”

  She kinda laughs. “They already are obsolete.” She props it up behind the garland on the mantle and makes a little hole for it. “Go over there by the tree so I can see if it catches you.”

  Doing as I’m told, I pull my phone from my pocket. Ever since I saw Joe watch her leave the hospital, I’ve kept my mouth closed and not meddled, but enough is enough of this ridiculousness. They’re both pitiful without each other. Sam turns around and messes with the camera, and I snap a picture of her.

  “I just texted Joe to come over.”

  She whips her head around. “Gabby!”

  “What? He’ll be here in five minutes.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I didn’t.” I burst out laughing. “I did text him a picture of you.”

  “The camcorder is set. I could beat you.”

  I smile. “You won’t, though, because I’m pregnant and vulnerable. Speaking of which, will one cup of coffee hurt the baby?”

  She shakes her head. “I doubt it.”

  The sound of the garage opening causes my body to swirl with anticipation.

  “So,” Sam says. “Did he happen to write you back? Or is he giving you the silent treatment too?”

  The phone dings. “Is that him?” She rushes to my side as I open the text.

  Joe:

  She’s beautiful. I hope she’s happy. She deserves to be.

  Gabby:

  She’s not. Miserable is the word I’d use to describe her. She misses you.

  Joe:

  I miss her.

  Gabby:

  Then fix it.

  When I glance at Sam, her eyes are filled with tears. “Stupid hormones,” she mutters, as Bradley walks through the back door with the milk we didn’t really need.

  “I’m gonna call it a night. Cookies were delicious, sis.” I pat Bradley on the shoulder. He resumed his spot on the couch after he got back from the store and is now watching another football game. “Night.”

  I stare at my phone. He misses me, but he hasn’t called me, texted me, or even acted like he cares. My blood starts to make little bubbles, then simmers, and eventually boils. Screw this. I’m here, and we’re going to talk. I bring up his profile on my phone. His face flashes on my screen, and I wonder if his stubble is long, if his eyes are wide, or if they’re tired. I wonder if he’s wearing those jeans that hang on his hips with the elastic from his boxers just barely showing. The horses in my abdomen start to prance. My core ignites. I tap the button for text. I’ll start with a question. Surely he won’t ignore that, and if he does, I’m just going to show up at his place and demand we sort through this. And he will because he wouldn’t make me spend the night on his porch in the cold. On Christmas Eve.

  Sam:

  You awake?

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  I watch the digital clock on the nightstand and start counting. How long do I give him? What if he’s in the shower? What if he’s with someone else? The thought never entered my mind that he could have found someone else.

  Sam:

  Answer me or I’m coming over. You can’t avoid me forever. We’re going to see each other tomorrow.

  The phone dings nearly immediately, and my heart skips a beat. Or three, but who’s counting.

  Joe:

  Yeah.

  One word. I’ll take it. It’s progress.

  Sam:

  Merry Christmas Eve.

  Joe:

  You too.

  Two words. More progress. Maybe if I keep this
up I can get a nice long sentence because words make sentences, and sentences make paragraphs. I’m convinced my paragraphs could make chapters about how I love him, and I can’t wait another minute playing this stupid game. I could turn those chapters into the best novel with our love story. It’d be the most wonderful chick flick I’d ever see because it’d be ours.

  The thought he’s with someone else is starting to cause my breaths to come in short spurts. Maybe the reason he’s sending short answers is because he’s otherwise engaged and wants to keep me from the house. Bile starts to rise, and I’m not sure if it’s from the thought of him with someone else or if it’s the pregnancy. Gabby’s in there planning cute ways to tell Bradley, and I’m in here wondering if I should ever tell Joe.

  It’s absurd and unfair to not tell a man they are going to be a father. I glance at the two gifts I bought for him, both wrapped nicely. I waited until the last minute to get them. Part of me has been so angry at him because I let my fortress down for him, and he’s trampled on sacred ground. The thought of giving him another piece of me, even in the form of a gift, hurts too badly. But we don’t give gifts with conditions. If the recipient wants to trash them, recycle them, or donate them to Good-freakin-will, then that’s on them. They have to live with knowing they were thought of with careful consideration, and they are tossing a symbol of that love away. I guess that’s just it. Can I take being tossed away one more single time? First Gabe. Now Joe. But it’s not even about me so much. Can I take him rejecting me and his child? There’s no getting over Joe now. Every time I look into the face of this baby, I’m going to see him. I’m going crave his come ons, his texts, the way my name rolls off his tongue. We’re forever linked.

  Another tear falls down my cheek. And another. And another. Darn hormones.

  My fingers tap the screen, and I type out another text.

  Sam:

  Are you alone?

  Joe:

  Yes.

  Sam:

  Are you staying at the lake house or your apartment at the bar tonight?

  Joe:

  Lake house.

  Sam:

  We need to talk. Before tomorrow because I don’t want Christmas to be even more awkward than it’s already going to be.