“How do you know that?”
“I read it online. There’s a great site that tells what to expect week by week.” He loosens his hold and turns my face up to his. “Relax. We’re going to the checkup right now. I’m sure Barbara will tell you the same.”
“You’ve already been reading about pregnancy?”
“Of course. Haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I say as I’m putting on clean underwear, “but I’ve known longer.”
“I like to be prepared.”
He can’t stand not knowing something, is what he means. As soon as we’re in the car, I pull out my phone. “What’s the name of that website?”
“Baby and us dot com.”
I read all the way to the doctor’s office. I try to figure out how far along I am by the weekly descriptions, but it’s too hard because symptoms don’t always start the same time for each woman, or even each pregnancy for the same woman. We’re walking down a hallway toward the office when my mouth fills with saliva and the floor tilts. I groan and slap a hand over my mouth. Without a word, Jeremy scoops me up and dashes toward the restrooms I hadn’t even realized were nearby. What would I do without him?
I don’t throw up this time. But I still feel disgustingly nauseated, so I try sipping faucet water from my cupped hand, all the while questioning how safe the water is. After a few minutes, Jeremy opens the restroom door a few inches.
“All right now?” He holds out one of those hard red and white peppermint candies, that he’s started carrying in his pocket.
I wipe my mouth and take the candy. “You’re becoming like a boy scout?”
“What?”
“Always prepared.” I pop the mint into my mouth. “Let’s go.”
By the time I’m sitting on the exam table, naked except for a paper gown, I’ve given blood and urine samples, been weighed and measured, and filled out a ton of forms. At least the peppermint eased my nausea. I’ll have to cook something special for my knight in shining armor’s dinner.
Jeremy’s sitting in a chair in the corner, studying the fetal growth poster and looking very uncomfortable. He tears his eyes away and smiles at me. “Everything fine?”
“I’m not about to spew if that’s what you mean?”
He gives me a thumbs-up, just as Barbara enters the room.
She looks at me, stony-faced, and barks like a drill sergeant, “Mrs. Pearce, I am Barbara Ryan. I will be your certified nurse-midwife for this pregnancy and birth, and you will obey me.”
Alarmed, I glance at Jeremy. Barbara chuckles.
“Sorry,” she says, “I have an odd sense of humor.” She shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Chelsea.” She turns to Jeremy and holds out her hand. “You must be—” She cocks her head. “You look familiar.”
He shakes her hand. “We met once.”
“Did we?”
“At Gabi Potenza’s first delivery,” I tell her. “I was her coach … with Matt.”
She gives me a puzzled look, making it clear she recognizes Jeremy, but not me. “Well. Okay, let’s … wait. You said Gabi’s first delivery?”
“Oh, right. You haven’t seen her yet. She’s pregnant again.”
Barbara smiles. “That’s great. All right now.” She opens the chart she carried in and reads for a minute. “You’re concerned about some spotting?”
I tell her about what I saw today.
“Did you find more when you undressed here?” When I tell her I didn’t, she lays the chart aside and puts on gloves. “And you had your implant removed on …”
“May twelfth.”
Barbara counts to herself as she examines my breasts. “Ten weeks ago. Hmm. Well, let’s take a look inside. Lie back, please.”
She lifts the stirrups on the exam table and turns on her spotlight, then she pulls the instrument cart and a stool up to the end and sits. “Assume the position,” she orders and chuckles again.
I put my feet in the stirrups and scoot toward her. She grabs the speculum, but then she stops and looks at Jeremy.
“I remember now,” she says to him. “You were the quiet one … hiding your eyes. You going to be all right with this?”
Jeremy clears his throat. “I’m fine.”
She nods. “Okay, Chelsea, this will be cold.”
For the next couple of minutes, she narrates that she’s taking a PAP smear and checking my cervix and general health of my vagina. When she’s done with that, she rolls her stool back so she can look at both of us. “I didn’t see anything abnormal. No bleeding. Did you have sex soon before you saw the spotting?”
Jeremy and I exchange glances.
“So,” Barbara says, “at this stage that’s normal—as long as it’s just a little pink, nothing to worry about.” She stands. “I think we’ll do an ultrasound.”
“Why?” Jeremy asks. “You said everything was normal. And it’s early for an ultrasound, isn’t it?”
“What I did see indicates we might be able to get a good estimate of the due date with a transvaginal ultrasound.”
“All right, then,” he says.
Barbara lifts her brows and smiles at me as if to say, he’s going to be very involved in this pregnancy, isn’t he? “You won’t be able to see much this time,” she says, “but if we’re lucky, we’ll hear the heartbeat. I’ll be right back.”
When she closes the door behind her, Jeremy comes over to me. “This is exciting. It won’t hurt.”
“I know.”
“I love you,” he says and kisses me. When the door opens, he returns to his chair.
I lay my hand low on my stomach and close my eyes while Barbara sets up the equipment. My little baby is in there. With a heartbeat. I’m kind of glad we won’t be able to see it. I don’t want to think of my baby as the weird looking fetus shown on that poster. I picture it as a tiny, tiny version of a full-term baby. I open my eyes when Barbara begins to explain the procedure.
“Ready, mommy?” she says. I nod. “Daddy, do you want to stand over here so you can see?”
Jeremy moves to my side and takes my hand, squeezing it hard when we hear our baby’s heartbeat a moment later.
Jeremy and I are all grins and kisses as we leave the doctor’s office. Barbara gave us March 2 as our due date and said it could even be a few days earlier, but she won’t know that until the next ultrasound.
“Seven weeks!” I squeal when we reach the parking lot.
“Or maybe eight.” Jeremy grabs me around the waist. He picks me up, swings us in a circle, and ends with another kiss. “We need to make plans.”
“We have plenty of time to clear the junk out of the room, and paint, and buy the nursery furni—” I stop talking because the look on his face says that’s not the plans he meant.
“Yes. Of course,” he says as we continue toward our car. “We’ll do those things gradually. Plenty of time.”
“But that’s not what you meant.”
He opens the car door for me. “Well … I was thinking more of the practical things.”
“Money, you mean.” I get into the car, a little bit angry that he’s sucked the fun out of the day. I wait for him to explain what he means by practical things, but when we’re pulling out of the parking lot and he hasn’t said another word, I prompt him. “Our insurance is good, right? We certainly pay enough for it.”
He nods. “I checked that immediately. It won’t pay all of the medical bills, of course.”
“What other plans did you mean?”
“Nothing you need to—”
“Worry my pretty little head about?”
He opens his mouth, but when I imitate his don’t-lie look, he closes it without saying anything. “So what don’t you think I need to worry about?”
“We need to revise our budget.”
“And?”
He glances at me sideways. “I need to increase my income.”
“But your agent said the publisher was happy with your synopsis.”
“Yes.” He smiles
and takes my hand. “Let’s don’t ruin this day with financial concerns. In fact, let’s celebrate with dinner at The Blue Room.”
“Wow. That’s blowing the budget all to hell. We’ll have to eat peanut butter for a week.”
He kisses my hand. “It’s worth it.”
My phone plays its message alert. Actually, I have four messages. After I read them all, I shoot Jeremy a look. “You already told everyone the due date?”
“While you were getting dressed, I texted our mums … and Ethan … and Matt.”
“Well, they told Laura and Gabi too.”
He shrugs.
I sigh. “It was my place to share the due date.”
His eyes widen. “And not also mine?”
“Yes, but … oh, just forget it.”
I respond to all the texts as we drive the rest of the way home in silence.
♥ ♥ ♥
Ten days after our first prenatal visit, Gabi and Matt show up at our house, looking stunned. He heads straight for our bar. Jeremy and I exchange a glance, the same fear I’m feeling is reflected in his eyes. Gabi and Matt have just come from their first ultrasound, and judging by their reactions, the news can’t be good. Jeremy pours himself a drink too.
We all sit in the living room staring at each other for what seems like an hour—well, until I can’t stand it any longer. I move to Gabi’s side and take her hand. It’s cold. I squeeze it because I’m not sure she’s breathing. “What’s happened?”
Gabi blinks, her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
“Twins,” Matt says, finally. “Two babies, not one. Twins.”
“But they’re all right?” Jeremy asks.
Gabi nods. Then she makes a sort of moaning sound I don’t think I’ve ever heard her make before. “How am I going to manage twins? Oh, God, Carla will live with us forever now.”
She’s talking about Matt’s mother, but he doesn’t protest.
“That’s why I’ve been so sick,” she says. “Double hormones.”
“Double everything,” Matt mutters and looks at Jeremy.
He’s talking about the costs, and Jeremy gives him a nod of sympathy.
I smile at Gabi, hoping to lighten the mood. “When are they due?”
“Five days before yours. Can you believe it?”
“Yay! We really are having our babies together.”
“Except you’re just having one,” Matt points out.
Jeremy offers him a refill.
CHAPTER 8
Even when there’s no moon, the night sky isn’t really black, at least not here in the city. I wish our house was in the desert or the mountains. If it were, I could see a thousand stars instead of just the two faint dots I’ve been staring at through the skylight ever since fear shocked me awake. I woke from a dream where I couldn’t find my baby. Frantic, I searched through an unfamiliar mall, but I couldn’t make anyone understand what I was looking for. And then, inexplicably as dreams are, I was still pregnant and sitting in a park, sharing an ice cream cone with a toddler who looked just like I did at that age.
Now, I’m lying here wondering how the subconscious mind works. Does it know the future? Are premonitions real, and was that dream one? Is our baby a girl? Will we have two children? I concentrate on that for a while because I don’t want to consider the worst—that losing my baby might be a premonition of miscarriage.
I’ve read the books and websites for expectant mothers. I know that bad dreams and fears are common. But having that knowledge doesn’t prevent them. It doesn’t mean that none of the fears are valid. And even if everything goes fine and our baby is born healthy, I worry how that will change our life. Becoming parents is the beginning of something, but it’s the end of something too.
Never again will Jeremy and I be free to make decisions based only on what we want. I knew that before we decided to start a family, of course, but I didn’t really know it, and now I’m afraid I might regret that loss of freedom. Crap. I’ll be honest, I feel a little bit resentful just thinking about it. How selfish, is that?
I push Jeremy’s shoulder. Assuming he woke me by snoring, he mumbles an apology and rolls onto his side, facing me. I poke his cheek. “Wake up and talk to me.”
He sits up, barely visible in dark, and rubs his face, looks around the room, and then lies back down. He’s not awake. Sometimes I wonder if he sleepwalks, and I’m not aware of it.
I call his name, louder this time, and smack his bare stomach.
“Right,” he mumbles.
“Wake up.”
“I am,” he says groggily. “Oh.” He rises on his elbows. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I just need to talk.”
He sits all the way up. “Be right back.”
I stare at the skylight and wait while he pees and then stops at the sink to splash cold water on his face before he climbs back into bed. He pulls me close. I rest my head on his chest, and he begins playing with my hair.
“What’s stealing your sleep, wife?”
“Do you worry about how our life will be different after the baby comes?”
“I have some concerns, but I think it will be mostly wonderful.”
“What are your concerns?”
“You have to ask?”
“Financial.” He pats my hip: good girl. “But what about us, between us?”
His arms stiffen around me. “Is something going to change between us?”
I can’t think of a way to voice my fear without revealing my selfishness. “No. I’m just being silly.”
We cuddle again and lie in silence for a moment. “Do you doubt that what we have is real love?” he says.
A chill zips down my spine. “Do you?”
“Not at all.”
“I don’t doubt it either.”
“Then why should that change?” He squeezes me tightly. “You’re not being silly, but you needn’t worry. When a child is born, love isn’t divided, it’s multiplied.”
I lift my head to look at him. “That’s profound.”
“That’s a quote from my mum.”
“Then she’s profound.”
“Women are wise.”
I rest my head on his chest again, wondering how much wisdom I dare claim. When the tempo of his breathing indicates that sleep is starting to reclaim him, I turn my back to him, and he automatically spoons me. As I wait for sleep, I feel something I’ve never felt before—my baby flutters inside me. I smile and lay a hand over the spot below my belly button. Love is multiplied.
A few minutes later, a realization pulls me back from the edge of sleep. For Jeremy’s mom to share that bit of wisdom with him, he must have voiced his own fear that our relationship could change.
♥ ♥ ♥
Isn’t it weird how pregnancy makes you want to eat things you normally don’t? Jeremy and I are at the mini-mart to gas up the car when I get another insane craving for a Popsicle, so while he pumps, I get out and head inside. Pregnancy also makes me feel hot all the time, and because the August heat is unbearable today I’m already glistening by the time I’ve taken two steps across the lot. I stretch my tee away from my belly and fan it to get some air underneath. Inside the store, I relish the cold air from the freezer as I choose a Bomb Pop and then another blast as I grab a bottle of water from the cooler.
While I’m waiting in line to pay, I take a drink. The cashier, a skinny middle-aged man, throws me a hard look, a warning that I’d better not try to pretend I brought the bottle in with me.
Jerk. “Yeah yeah, I’m paying for it,” I tell him. When I’m next in line, I lay the Bomb Pop on the counter to reach for the money in my pocket. I feel an odd tickle on my stomach. Two seconds later, a burning stab is followed by the loudest scream I’ve ever heard come from my mouth. A second stab makes me scream again. Ohmygod. Something’s stinging me. I’m frantic, slapping at my shirt, but it doesn’t stop whatever’s moving across my skin. I drop the water bottle and jerk my top off over my head. Some evil dar
k insect flies away and over the head of the woman coming through the door.
“What was that?” The people standing around me silently stare. I turn to the cashier. His shirt front is soaked, and he’s trying to dry the counter with a wad of paper towels. It takes my pain-blurred brain a moment to realize my hand must have squeezed a geyser out of my water bottle with the first sting. “Sorry ’bout that.”
He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are cussing me out. I take back my apology, dude.
The stings hurt so bad, tears have welled up. I’m in pain and confused. And I want my mommy.
Just then, Jeremy enters the store. He freezes, looking amazed—or is that horrified? “Chelsea! Bloody hell.”
I look down at my stomach sure that it must look grotesque but see only two small red welts on it. That’s when it dawns on me that I’m shirtless. I’m struggling to turn my top right side out when Jeremy rushes forward to help—and to block me from the site of two pre-teen boys gawking from the chips aisle.
“Something got stuck under my shirt,” I tell him. “It stung me.”
“Twice,” says the woman holding a 2-liter. “She screamed bloody murder.”
“It hurt,” I tell her. “It’s still hurting … like hell.”
Jeremy turns my face back to his. “Are you allergic?”
“No.”
“Did you remove stingers?”
“There weren’t any.”
“Probably a yellow jacket,” the cashier says. “I saw some flying around the dumpsters this morning.”
Jeremy shoots him a glare. “Then you should do something about that.”
Bored with the whole thing, the cashier shrugs. “You gonna pay for the water and ice cream?”
I sniff and reach in my pocket, but the five-dollar bill isn’t there. “I think I had the money in my hand when I got stung.” Jeremy looks at the floor around us. I look at the people standing around me. The teen girl quickly looks away and starts sipping her slushie. “Did you pick up my five bucks?” I ask her.
She looks at me then, and in a totally fake innocent voice says, “I hope you’re not talking to me.”
“Yeah, I am, you little—”
“All right.” Jeremy steps between me and the girl and takes my arm. He tosses another five at the cashier and pulls me toward the exit.
Open & Honest (Sometimes) (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 3) Page 11