Birthquake

by B. L. Berry

  I swallowed hard as Jeff and I stared at each other awkwardly.

  “That’s a good one, Hen!” My dad wiped tears away from his eyes as he continued to howl in hysterics. “Our little girl … pregnant!” He barely spit the words out as he gasped for air between full blown belly laughs.

  My heart fell to my stomach, and I tried to steady my breath.

  “I … um … this isn’t a joke.” I looked at my hands in my lap. “I’m eleven weeks, today.”

  And for an awkward ten seconds, that terrifying silence returned, only to be broken by the wailing sobs of my mother as she ran from the room, my father quick on her heels, presumably to console her.

  “Wow,” Jeff breathed. “I wasn’t quite expecting … that.”

  There’s no better word than that.

  That was unexpected.

  That was the precise moment I tore my mother’s heart in two.

  That was possibly the best situation I could have hoped for knowing those two.

  “They’re a bit … traditional. They’ll come around … I promise.”

  I hoped.

  I place my hand on his knee and run my thumb back and forth, but it does nothing to soothe either of us.

  Later that evening my father called and asked to speak with Jeff. I cautiously handed him the phone and lingered close by, just in case.

  To my surprise, I wasn’t able to hear my dad screaming at Jeff through the line. And thankfully, my dad didn't show up unannounced with a hit man in tow. They both spoke in hushed tones, and I could only hear Jeff’s side of the conversation which was made up of direct phrases like “Yes, sir,” and “No, it’s not like that,” and “I promise”. I could only imagine the menacing threats he was continuing to make against my boyfriend.

  When Jeff hung up the phone, my heart crumbled. “They didn’t want to talk to me?” I asked softly.

  “No, it’s not that they didn’t want to talk to you. They had some questions for me.”

  “How bad?” I deadpanned, my face expressionless but my mind moving fast enough to break a speedometer on a formula one race car.

  He squeezes the back of his neck with his hand, presumably weighing the options of truth and fabrication.

  “Don’t you dare lie to me. Like you said, we’re in this together.” I stared at him, silently willing him to tell me about the conversation.

  Jeff approached me and took my hands in his. “Your mom and dad love you, and all they wanted to do was make sure that I love you, too. And that I’m serious about a future with both you and our baby, which I am.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  “That’s all?” I wasn’t convinced.

  Jeff sighed. “Let’s put it this way. What would happen if the roles were reversed and that was our child telling us they were expecting out of wedlock to someone they’d been dating for less than a year?” He looked at me poignantly.

  Okay. I got it.

  “You can’t fault them for wanting to talk to me a little more. Your dad even invited me fishing in a few weeks. He wants to get to know me better.”

  “No, he wants to throw you off a boat for taking his daughter’s virginity away. It’s all under the guise of a getting to know you fishing trip.”

  “Babe, you weren’t a virgin when we met.” He released my hand and touched my cheek softly.

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I guarantee that he wholeheartedly believes that I’ve only had sex one time, and once was enough to get knocked up.”

  He caressed my cheek in his palm, and gently rubbed his thumb against my jawline. “They may be traditional, but they're not stupid, babe. But if your dad has ulterior motives, let’s get an extra life insurance policy on me before I hit the lake with him. My parting gift to you, aside from my undying love from beyond the grave, would be a nice little sum of dough.”

  I snorted, and he pressed his lips against mine in the tenderest of kisses. When he pulled back, he smirked, and there was a boyish twinkle in his eye. “But even in death, you can’t get rid of me. I love you so much that I’d come back to haunt your sweet ass just so you’d know you’re still top of mind in the afterlife.”

  I playfully swatted at his shoulder. “If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.”

  THE SPANK BANK

  “Can I get you a beer, man?” Cameron asks Jeff as we walk through the tiny foyer of their home.

  “Uh …” Jeff looks at Cameron and then to me, silently asking for permission. It’s a sweet gesture, much like most of his gestures, but completely unnecessary.

  “It’s fine, babe. It’s bad enough that I’m not allowed to drink. It doesn’t mean that both of us need to commit ourselves to nine months of sobriety.”

  The guys grab a beer from the fridge and walk into the living room. I head into the kitchen, setting down the store-bought french silk pie on the counter. I’ve never been one to show up empty-handed and usually try to make something sweet from scratch whenever we are invited to dinner. In my defense, I did bake brownies earlier this morning, but the baby got hungry. And one brownie turned into twelve, and I quickly realized just why I’ve gained so much weight in this first trimester.

  Whoopsie!

  Tara rests a spoon next to the stove and comes over to hug me. “Hey, Momma! You’re lookin’ good.”

  I smile at her then wrap my arms around her. It’s a good thing I look good because I feel like crap. Then again, that’s probably just the brownies talking. “Thanks, how was Florida?”

  The Carmichael clan got back from their annual trip to the South a few days ago. I’m secretly jealous of all their family bonding time. The only family vacation I was privy to in my childhood was when my great aunt Bernice died, and we road tripped up to Lancaster, Pennsylvania when I was twelve years old. My parents told me I didn’t have to go to the actual burial, so I wandered around town and befriended some Amish kids who made wood furniture “for fun.” I quickly learned there wasn’t anything fun about sanding a headboard to perfection, but Elmer (yes, one of them was actually named Elmer) did learn just how much fun it was to swap gum without the use of one’s hands. Oh, those were the days!

  “Oh, it was wonderful, but I am all Mickey-ed out. I even sent the trio over to Cam’s folks for the night so we could have some uninterrupted adult time. But if I have to hear It's a Small World one more time I am going to willingly put some kind of flesh eating bacteria in my ears.”

  “That bad, eh?”

  Tara's eyebrows jump to her hairline as she nods enthusiastically. I mentally plan to avoid the land of oversized fake plastic characters on Prozac and long lines for as long as humanly possible.

  “The flight home, however, was the worst. I asked to switch seats on the plane because I was seated next to a screeching toddler. But apparently, that’s not allowed if the child belongs to you.”

  I laugh, and Tara shoots me her infamous I’m not fucking joking glare. “Well, I’m glad you’re back.” And it’s true. I am. Even though Tara and I don’t see each other as much as we’d like to, we do a kick ass job at keeping in touch. But for those long stretches where we have life-induced radio silence, we always seem to pick things up exactly where they were left off. We’re kind of like a couple of dudes in that respect. Low maintenance friendships bonded by alcohol and a general love at yelling at things such as sports on TV, children, and significant others.

  “By the way, this smells delicious. What are we having?”

  “Well, we were going to grill steak, but a storm is rolling through so that’s out. Instead, I’m making this awesome bacon and pasta dish. There’s enough garlic in it to ward off any vampire in a one hundred mile radius.”

  I know. I could smell it from outside. Not that I’m complaining, though. “Edward Cullen will be so sad. What can I do to help?”

  Tara points to the stool at the island. “Nothing, I’m almost done. You can just sit your tush down and watch me cook.” She quickly returns to the stove to stir the sauce and turn
on the oven. “So I take it Jeff took the news well?”

  “He did. Though I think I caught him off guard since I nearly burned my apartment down in the process.”

  “You what!?” She snaps her head back toward me so fast, I fear the girl will give herself whiplash.

  I shake my head. “Long story, don’t ask. He seems genuinely excited though. I know he’ll be a good dad. I just keep waiting for the news to really hit and for him to tailspin into panic mode.”

  Tara nods her head. “Aaaaand what’s this about your apartment?”

  “Eh, it’s no big deal. Let’s just say I wasn’t focused, and I accidentally burned dinner. And by burned dinner I mean I may or may not have caused a small kitchen fire in the oven causing the smoke detectors to go off. It was pretty bad, T. I haven’t been back to my place all week. The pungent smell of melted plastic nearly makes me choke every time I’m home. I’ve been staying at Jeff’s until my apartment airs out. He even had to run back to get my clothes for me. Every time I step foot in there my gag reflexes kick in.” I wait for her to make a joke about my weak gag reflexes, but her expression turns semi-serious, and she surprises me.

  “Maybe you should just move in with him? I mean, you are going to have a kid together.”

  I rest my hand on my chin and look at her. It makes sense. And I’m pretty sure Jeff is the one. Or at least I think he is. At the very least he’s the one of the moment. That has to count for something, right?

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s just … I like my space. Even though we’re practically living together right now, the illusion of independence is nice.”

  Tara turns toward me and puts one hand on her hip and points her wooden spoon at me with the other. “You do realize that you’re about to lose all of your space for the next eighteen years, right?”

  “I know, but—”

  “Nope. No buts. The only butts allowed is the one you’ll be wiping. You need to get used to it. No boundaries. No privacy. No nothing. Your quiet ‘me time’ of a bubble bath complete with wine and your favorite book is going to turn into sneaking the last cookie into the bathroom simply because you don’t want to share it, all while listening to your monster squad cry from the other side of the door as they stuff their sticky little fingers underneath it because they ‘miss you.’”

  Oh, God.

  “If you want to tackle that solo, more power to you. But it just makes sense for you two to do this together.”

  She’s right. And I know we need to talk about it at some point, but I’m just not ready. Not yet at least.

  I sigh.

  “All I’m saying is this parenting shit is a lot easier to swallow when you tag team. And trust me, when you’ve got a tiny terror finger painting the crib and the walls and his body with poop, you want to be the one to give him the bath. Because the other parent is the one cleaning up the nursery in full body armor and a gas mask.”

  “You make everything sound so glamorous,” I deadpan.

  “Because it is. And the sooner you can accept the fact that motherhood is the most glamorous job where you’ll be covered in snot and sticky fingers, and your purse will forever be the keeper of stale snacks and crumbs, the better off you’ll be.”

  Surprisingly, dinner tasted as good as it smelled, which is a rarity in this household. So score one for Tara because it was actually edible.

  Tara has never really been a good cook as she likes to veer off-recipe, adding liberal amounts of spices to dishes because she thinks the name sounds cool. Paprika pot pie where the filling was three parts paprika, one part potatoes, chicken, and carrots. Curry in a coconut cake. But my favorite incident was the great wasabi disaster of 2014. Tara cut full chunks of wasabi root into a pot roast and Cameron and I ate it to simply be polite. We each spent the following three days with our asses glued to the toilet seat. Not the same toilet seat, of course. Needless to say, she’s been banned from making pot roast and buying any form of wasabi ever since.

  “Hey, babe, come over here,” Cameron says, standing at the head of the dinner table.

  Tara looks from Cameron to me and then back to her husband again. “I’m right here.”

  “No, I mean come here. I want to do something really quick.” Cameron makes his way around the table and reaches for Tara’s hand, pulling her up and out of the chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asks cautiously.

  “We’re going outside really quick. There’s something I need to do.”

  Just as the words leave his mouth, thunder crashes and the room fills with white hot light from the latest lightning strike.

  “Um, no. There’s a monsoon out there. You sit your ass back down. Whatever is outside can wait.”

  “Quit being a baby. You’re not going to melt.”

  Tara folds her arms in protest and looks at her husband unamused.

  “I just want to kiss you!” he exclaims.

  “You can kiss me right here. But I highly doubt Henley and Jeff want a front row seat to a tonsil hockey match.”

  “No, not in front of them. I want to kiss you in the rain.” He pauses for a beat, and a glint of mischief takes over his expression. “That way you’ll be twice as wet.”

  Tara swats his shoulder with her mouth agape in mock audacity. She can hardly talk over the sound of her own laughter. “You are so vile.”

  Jeff shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Some days I feel bad for the guy. Tara and I are a package deal, and with Tara comes Cameron who is just as bad as my best girlfriend. Those two are a match made in heaven if heaven were a high school locker room full of fart jokes and ridiculous sexual innuendos. Some people just never grow up. But it works for them, and I love them all the more for it.

  “You guys are utterly ridiculous,” I chime in. And utterly in love.

  When we’re done with dinner, I help Tara clear the table as Jeff and Cam head back into the living room to watch the rest of the Royals game. I love that they get along well, but they are awfully chatty tonight.

  I turn to Tara and speak softly, to ensure there’s no way that Jeff can hear me. “How did you know that Cam was the one?”

  Tara puts the serving bowl down on the counter and looks at me thoughtfully. “Oh, that’s easy. At least it was for me.”

  I find that hard to believe. Nothing about love is ever easy. Love is confusing and messy and hard.

  “I knew it was real the day he confessed that he jerked off to pictures of me,” Tara confesses.

  “Gross! You’re joking, right?”

  Tara is delusional. And disgusting. And the last thing I needed tonight was the visual of Cameron with a bottle of lotion in one hand and a box of tissues in the other.

  “What? Out of all the women in the world and all the porn in existence, he chose to knock his rocks off to me. It was his subtle way of saying, ‘you’re the only one.’ Now if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

  “Huh,” I breathe in a moment of clarity. I hate that she actually makes sense right now. Even still, the last thing I want is the mental image of Cam spanking it to thoughts of Tara. I silently shudder.

  “You know I’m right.” She pauses with her hand upon her hip. “Why don’t you ask Jeff?”

  “Ask him what?”

  “Ask him if you’re in his spank bank.”

  I guffaw. “That is not something you just come out and ask your boyfriend.”

  “No, but it’s something you can ask your baby daddy. Watch …” She walks toward the family room where the guys are sitting. “Hey, babe,” she calls out to Cameron, “when the kids are busy cock blocking you from getting into my pants, what do you do?”

  “Ah! I whip out—”

  “NO!” I interject, throwing a hand out motioning him to end this conversation immediately. “You stop right there, Cameron Carmichael! I don’t want to know about you whipping things out! All friendships need boundaries. And this is where I draw the hard line.”

  Cameron gasps and c
lutches his chest like a damsel in distress. “What? Gross, Henley. I wasn’t going to tell you about unleashing the snake. I’m a gentleman. I would never dare tell a lady about the time I spend choking my chicken. About cranking the love pump. Or spouting old faithful. Or fiddling the flesh flute. Or—”

  “Okay, okay, okay! I get it. Just stop!” My hands fly to my head, and I can feel my cheeks flushing red. God, what is with these two!? I can’t even tell you which one is worse!

  “All I was going to say is when the three musketeers make it impossible for a quickie with my lady love, I have a nice little collection of photos and dirty texts on my phone all courtesy of my bride.” He flashes a megawatt smile to Tara.

  “Seriously? You do?” Jeff looks at Cam in awe. Maybe even pride. Cam nods, and I can practically see the gears turning over in Jeff’s head. “Aww, babe, why don’t we do that?” Jeff asks me in all seriousness.

  I put a fist on my hip and raise my eyebrows. “Because we don’t have triplets?” But I can pretty much guarantee that if we did have triplets, sex would be the furthest thing from both of our minds.

  “Don’t mock it ’til you try it, guys,” Tara snaps. Jeff opens his mouth to speak, but my best friend cuts it off. “And no, you cannot try my photos, Jeffrey. As much as we’ve become friends over the past several months, I’m never touching you in any capacity.”

  Jeff presses his left hand against his heart with a pained expression. “You wound me, Tara.”

  “Seriously though, the older you get and the longer you two are together, you’re going to need to find ways to show that you still care. That baby is going to take nearly all of your love. But you need to remember that first and foremost, you love one another. It doesn’t matter if you leave a love note in his car or send him a gratuitous boob pic taken in the bathroom at the grocery store. The point is you have to make a conscious effort each and every day to show one another just how much you’re in love.”