Birthquake

by B. L. Berry

  He purses his lips. “Touche.”

  I split my croissant in half and take a bite, absorbing his silence for a few moments.

  I swallow hard and suggest the obvious. “What if we just wait and see what this baby looks like? We could fall in love with a name now, and it may not even suit the child.”

  I don’t want to tell him that no matter what happens, I get veto power over the name. Everyone knows that the mother is supposed to win the name game. No man in his right mind would watch his significant other go through the whole painful and dramatic ordeal of childbirth and say “no” when she asks, “Doesn’t she look like a Eunice VonKlepto?” as she cradles the baby in her arms the first time. Sure, naming the kid is a joint effort, but he’s not the one pushing it out.

  “I can agree to that ... on one condition.” He smirks knowingly.

  “What’s that?”

  “The names of any ex-boyfriends are off the table.”

  I snort. He’s delusional if he thinks I’d name this child Leo or the name of any of the buffoons I dated long ago. Even still, his request is reasonable, and one I can agree on.

  “Same goes for ex-girlfriends then, too.” I nod in agreement. “I do have one name I’d like to veto now, if that’s okay with you.”

  He opens his palm, gesturing me to continue.

  “No Kitty Sunshine.”

  He narrows his eyes and gives me his best cat that ate the canary smile.

  “No Kitty Sunshine? No problem. Because no son of mine is going to have a name worthy of an eighties Saturday morning cartoon character.

  SILENCE AND STRETCHY PANTS

  “Well? What’d your folks say?” Jeff asks with a little too much enthusiasm as I walk back into the room and set my cell phone down on the coffee table.

  My entire demeanor is heavy, and the weight of my body and my mind and all the hormonal baggage I carry with me these days sinks into the couch next to him.

  “They … uh … they didn’t say anything, sweetie.” And not for lack of trying. When the phone picked up, I was nothing but sweet and upbeat and hopeful as I let her know we’re engaged, but all she gave me was silence.

  I extend my hand, palm up on his leg, and he threads his fingers through mine exhaling in an audible humph. We had wanted to tell my parents about our engagement in person, and by we I mean Jeff. I just wanted them to know, period. Considering how swimmingly they took the news of their pending grandchild, I had (wrongly) assumed that my mother might actually show an iota of excitement for our engagement.

  “What?” His incredulous tone matches my exact reaction.

  “I know. It was weird. I was putting a few things away in the bedroom when she answered, and so I quickly got down to it. I mean, no sense in beating around the bush, right? So I had said something along the lines of, hey Mom! I’ve got some really exciting news!, and I took her silence as a prompt to continue, and so I told her about how you proposed, and reassured her that this wasn’t just some spur of the moment decision because we were expecting, and I told her not to expect a shotgun wedding because we don’t want to rush into things so we can focus on the baby, and that we’ll keep them posted on details and—”

  “Whoa! Slow down, babe. Take a breath. You’re talking faster than that Micro Machine guy from the commercials when we were kids.”

  I take a deep breath and give his hand a tender squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little bummed out, ya know?”

  And like someone flipped a damn light switch, the tears fall without any warning whatsoever. It’s not every day you get the cold shoulder from your parents, but apparently, they’re doing the silent treatment thing right now. It’s clear she’s unhappy with me and the situation Jeff and I have found ourselves in. But if I can’t get what I want, it’s best to simply ignore my folks if they’re going to be such a killjoy. Besides, Jeff’s parents were happy enough for everyone, so I choose to focus on joy.

  I lean over and wipe my eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of Jeff’s T-shirt.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t say anything. I thought for sure they would be excited.”

  “I know,” I agree with him in between sobs.

  “This is almost worse than their reaction when we told them about the baby.” He clumsily runs his free hand against the adorable scruff on his jawline and contemplates the situation. “Maybe I should try calling them? I could help smooth things over. When I asked your dad for your hand in marriage, he was really positive about it all.”

  Ugh. I’d really rather not be hit twice in one day. Being bruised over the silent treatment one time is enough for the week. No need to drag him into my parents’ social ineptitude and hurt his ego, too.

  They can be such assholes sometimes!

  Their silent treatment is a force to be reckoned with. Trust me. When I was a teenager, I came home with a B minus on my U.S. History midterm paper. My folks were so upset they didn’t talk to me for a week. The nothingness meant disappointment and contempt. It was my dad who cracked first, and I had to swear to raise my grade before the final—which I did. But for the daughter who fails at nothing, that week hurt! If we could bottle their unspoken displeasure and unleash it upon unsuspecting individuals, we’d have a real weapon on our hands.

  Before I can ask him to give it a day or two before he reaches out, Jeff has his phone in hand and he’s dialing my mom’s number. He smiles confidently at me. After a few moments, he whispers, “Voice mail” in my direction and raises up a single finger silently asking me to hold on a second.

  “Hey, Mrs. Carson, it’s Jeff. I just wanted to chat really quickly about the conversation you and Henley just had. I know our situation is a lot to take in, in a very short amount of time. But I just wanted to reassure you that I love your daughter more than a fat kid loves ice cream and cake, and I’m marrying her out of necessity. Not in the way that a baby needs a mom and dad who are married kind of necessity. But rather because Henley is necessary to my existence. Without her, I would be nothing. So when you have a moment, I’d love it if you could give one of us a—”

  Jeff stops talking mid-sentence, pulls the phone away from his ear after a moment and then looks at the screen with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “What?” I prompt, pulling him from whatever thoughts are flooding his head.

  He hits the red end button on the screen and places his phone next to him on the couch. “That’s funny. It cut me off and said the voicemail box was full.”

  Odd. My parents always keep their voicemail inbox clear.

  We sit in silence for a moment, and from the corner of my eye, I see Jeff look from me down to his phone and then back to me.

  “Henley …?” Jeff says my name slowly, almost questioning it.

  “Yeah, babe?” I wipe another rogue tear away from my cheek.

  “Did you actually hear your mom talking at any point during the call?”

  I tilt my head and try to recall if she said anything. “No. Nothing beyond whatever she said when she first answered.”

  “Henley …” He’s still saying my name in a delicate tone that makes me feel like a child being encouraged to see the error in their ways. Whatever it is he’s trying to say, I wish he’d just come right out and say it already.

  “What, Jeff?” I hate that my tone is short. I know it’s not his fault my parents are being soulless punks hell-bent on sucking the happiness out of my life, but I’m just ready for this day to be over. At some point all little girls dream of the moment they tell their parents they’re getting married. In the movies it’s usually followed with squeals of delight and the mom makes a big fuss about how excited she is to go wedding dress shopping and the whole nine yards. But no, not my mom. My mom couldn’t even show her excitement. Maybe she was so distraught by the news she keeled over and died on the other end of the line?

  “Is there any chance your mom never actually picked up the phone to begin with, and that you were rambling to her voice mail and getting yourself a
ll worked up over nothing?” His voice is light and non-accusatory like he knows his words could break me.

  Whoopsie!

  I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “God, I am such an idiot.” I throw my head in my heads, trying not to be embarrassed, but the effort is futile.

  Jeff chuckles softly. “Hey now, don’t you dare talk smack on my fiancée.” He rubs my back softly. “It’s okay. Cam warned me that pregnancy brain can rear its silly little head in the most inconvenient of moments.”

  Ah, pregnancy brain. My go-to excuse for all those things I don't want to do like switching over the laundry or grading papers or paying bills. Which reminds me, I never paid the electric bill, but I digress. All I can do is sigh and fight the urge to crawl into a hole and disappear. My stupidity knows no bounds.

  “Come here, you.” He pulls me closer to his body and kisses the top of my head. “I can only imagine how tough it is being pregnant…”

  I snort instinctively because he really has no freakin’ clue.

  “What?”

  “Let’s just say that pregnancy is like a group project for school. There is a lot of excitement and an all hands on deck approach the very first time you get together to work on the project, but now there’s one person stuck doing all the work—me. This growing a human thing really is hard.” The last part is more of a confession.

  “I know it is, babe. But look on the bright side…”

  I lift my head up to meet his gaze, wondering what the silver lining here could possibly be.

  “You don’t have to deal with your period for a few more months, your tits look great, and you get to live in stretchy pants until this baby arrives.”

  I guffaw. “You’re crazy if you think I’m putting the maternity pants away after this kid debuts. They are, hands down, the most comfortable things in existence. They are never coming off.”

  HAPPY BAT MITZVAH

  The coffee table in front of the couch is littered with half empty glasses and paper plates with traces of chocolate cake and vanilla frosting. I stretch my legs out in front of me, resting my feet on a wad of tissue paper from Tara’s gift.

  “You said you wanted a low key birthday. I hope this was okay.” Jeff kisses my temple and sits down next to me, draping his arm across the back of the couch.

  “It was perfect. Thank you, baby.” I lean my head against him and relax for the first time all day. He invited Tara and Cameron over for dinner and hired a chef to come in and cook so the four of us could simply relax and catch up.

  “I still can’t believe she bought you leather pants and a sex swing.”

  I should have raised a red flag when she kept insisting I open my birthday gifts in front of them throughout dinner. I mean, this is the girl who publicly announced she was hosting a panty intervention for me in the middle of Victoria’s Secret when she realized I didn’t own a single thong. I don’t care what anybody says, but dental floss permanently lodged in the crack of your ass simply is not sexy. Maybe helpful if I had some food lodged back there that needed extraction. But ew — no. “I know. That’s Tara for you, though. She has no shame. And no limits either.”

  “What’d her card say?” he asks as he runs his fingers through my hair.

  I sit up and move some of the paper on the table looking for the card she included with the gift. Jeff inspects the front of it and raises an eyebrow.

  “Um … this is a Bat Mitzvah card,” he observes.

  “Read the inside,” I deadpan.

  Jeff slowly opens the card and clears his throat before reading aloud in an overly-perky voice that rivals Tara’s. “Henley, you’ve finally become a woman! So I thought you’d enjoy some womanly things. The leather pants are for when you regain your rockin’ ass after you deliver le bebe. And the sex swing is for … well, the truth is the sex swing was accidentally sent to us twice from Adam and Eve, you know the discreet adult toy store? And it seemed like a waste to return a perfectly good sex swing when I can share the gift of kinky acrobatics with my best friend. So consider this birthday gift as a way to help get the spark back into the sack after the wee one arrives. Just be sure to stretch first—trust me. Love you, Giggle Tits! Tara.” He laughs and tosses the card down on the table. “Giggle Tits? Is this a pet name you’ve had for a while?”

  I nudge him with my shoulder. There aren’t many people who I let get away with pet names, let alone pet names like Giggle Tits, but she’s one of them.

  Beyond the sex toys and pants that won’t fit for the next year or two, my mother had the foresight to drop off a few gifts before I got home from the office. I am now the proud new owner of a Martha Stewart wedding planning book and waffle iron. Turns out her silent treatment wasn’t so silent after all. She ended up calling and congratulating us the very next day, but not without the accompaniment of some passive aggressive jabs about marriage coming before the baby in the baby carriage.

  Jeff, however, proved that he is the best gift giver between the two of us as he completely spoiled me rotten. I didn’t even give him a hint on what I wanted for my birthday, but he hit a home run. For starters, I unwrapped a luxurious ballerina pink maternity nightgown. It is softer than most of the baby blankets I’ve felt, and I had to fight the urge to wrap myself up in it immediately. Then he gave me a gift card for a full day of pampering — prenatal massage, mani, pedi, and a facial. And not the kind of facial that would require his assistance, though he did make that offer under his breath after I unwrapped the gift certificate.

  But the most thoughtful gift of all was a jewelry box he made with his own two hands using photos of the two of us and a bottle of Modge Podge. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with charms of a heart, an airplane, and a rattle.

  “For the day we met, for the day I realized I was in love with you, and for our future,” he told me with a nervous smile playing on his lips. “And I plan on adding to it throughout the years.”

  “Tell me that story.”

  “Which one?”

  I touch the elegant silver heart. “When you knew you were in love with me. I don’t think I’ve heard this one before.”

  He reaches out and threads his fingers through mine. “It’s not really exciting. I knew when I first met you that I was going to marry you someday, but I’ve told you that already.” He squeezes my fingers gingerly. “But when I realized just how deep I was in love with you, it was like I had been struck by lightning and … and I just knew.”

  “And when was that?”

  He smiles at me knowingly. “Do you remember the night we went bowling with some of my coworkers down at the Power and Light district?”

  “Yeah…” And how could I forget? We had only been dating a little over two months at that point, but in a moment of intoxication, Jeff released the twelve-pound bowling ball behind him and nearly took out Doug from accounting.

  “Well, when we got home, you escaped into my room to get ready for bed. After brushing my teeth, I went to grab a glass of water and when I came back in you were snoring like a jackhammer.”

  “I WAS NOT!” I snatch a pillow and try to smack him with it, but he deftly leans out of the way and laughs at me.

  “You were! And it was cute! It was at that precise moment that I knew I could never give my heart to anybody else. I knew I wanted to listen to you saw logs every night from then until eternity.”

  There is nothing love-worthy or endearing or cute about snoring. “You’re so weird.”

  “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

  I adjust the way I’m sitting on the couch to try and give the baby a little more space as it’s currently doing summersaults. I’m only in the middle of my second trimester, and there is a noticeable belly pop happening. The good news is I’m past the is she pregnant or is she just eating too many cheeseburgers phase of my pregnancy, and I no longer have to try and suck in my gut.

  My stomach flutters and I’m convinced it’s not a feeling I’ll ever get used to. “I think I ate too much cake.
This kid is in sugar shock.” There is, no doubt, a foot trying to wedge itself in the space between two of my left ribs and an elbow using my bladder as a trampoline. “Here … feel.” I reach for his hand and bring his palm to my side. It’s only a matter of moments before the baby kicks again. Jeff’s face lights up with an awe and wonder that I’ve never seen before.

  “Wow,” he whispers, his face beaming. It’s the first time he’s actually felt it kick. He keeps his hand there until the baby finally settles.

  “You know, it’s pretty amazing. You used to give me butterflies. You still do, in fact. But now I actually feel the fluttering of little feet inside of me, and that’s something else.”

  Jeff gently grabs my chin and turns my face to his. “I love you, Henley.”

  He looks at me like he’s about to swallow me whole. And before I have a chance to tell him that I love him too, his lips are on mine, and his hands are in my hair. It’s the kind of kiss that leaves you restless, breathless, and senseless.

  When we finally pull away from each other, I know that this man, that this moment, is exactly where I am supposed to be … home.

  “Oh! Before I forget, I have one more present for you.”

  “You’ve already done so much, Jeff. You didn’t need to get me anything to begin with. I wanted a low key birthday so we could put money aside for the baby.” And you already spent too much money on this ice skating rink on my left ring finger.

  “I know, but I wanted to do this. This one was important … for us.” He lays on the floor, flat on his stomach and extends his hand all the way underneath the couch.

  “Oh! You got me a dust bunny? You shouldn’t have,” I say with a laugh.

  “Hold on … I almost … have it!” His words are strained, and his face turns cherry red as it contorts.

  I watch him struggle for a few moments before finally suggesting we simply move the couch. It seems like the obvious solution for whatever he has hidden. I stand up so he can rearrange the furniture and once he’s found the envelope he was searching for, he gestures me down on the middle cushion and then sits on the wooden coffee table in front of me, resting his elbows on his knees.