Birthquake

by B. L. Berry

  “Open it!” He’s practically jumping out of his skin in excitement. His knee is bouncing, and he can hardly contain his smile.

  I rip open the envelope, pull out the slip of paper and scan the words across the page. “We’re going to San Diego?”

  “Yeah!”

  “We’re going tomorrow? I’ve got things I need to do!” I try to hide the panic in my voice. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and can’t afford to take a vacation with all of the lesson plans I’m working on.

  I look back at Jeff, and he’s absolutely glowing with pride at this little stunt he’s pulled. “Don’t you even stress about all that. You’re all mine for the next few days. I thought it was important for us to take a babymoon before our son comes.”

  I give him a pointed look at the word “son.” Admittedly, I’m a little nervous that if this is a girl, he’ll be somewhat disappointed. “A babymoon?”

  “Yeah! I was reading in one of your pregnancy books—”

  “Wait? You’re reading my pregnancy books?” Oh God. Does he know I may poop in labor?

  Shit.

  Literally.

  “Of course I’m reading your pregnancy books. I’ve told you a thousand times, woman, we’re in this together. Where you walk, I walk, remember? Anyway, one of the books said a babymoon is a great way to connect as a couple before the baby arrives. And I know we haven’t even had a honeymoon yet — hell, we’ve never even really been on vacation together. And no, I don’t count a family affair like my brother’s wedding as vacation, no matter how extravagant the weekend was. So I just thought this would be a good idea. And I know you love Southern California. And I found a really great deal. And—”

  I grab his face and kiss him hard and fast. The kiss takes him by surprise, and he moans into my mouth. After a few moments, I can feel him smiling against my lips. It’s impossible not to smile back. This is hands down one of the sweetest, most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me.

  “Oh!” I abruptly pull away at the feel of this kid clawing at my insides. I look down at my stomach and then laugh softly at the interruption. We both watch what I can only assume is an elbow or knee pushing out from my abdomen. It definitely looks freaky.

  “It seems as if this kid is embarrassed by its parents kissing.”

  “Well, he better get used to the PDA because I have no intentions to ever stop my public displays of affection when it comes to my beautiful … sexy … kindhearted … wife to be.”

  He softly kisses my lips in between each word. I love how he has the power to make me feel beautiful. I wish all women could be this lucky. When I pull away after his last kiss, there’s nothing but sheer adoration for me illuminating his eyes.

  “Thank you, Jeff. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect birthday.” I lean over and give him the biggest bear hug that my belly allows.

  Whoever said it was impossible to throw your arms around the world never hugged their one true love.

  LET YOUR WEIRDO LIGHT SHINE BRIGHTLY

  The next morning we quickly pack our bags and catch a cab to the airport by early afternoon. Since there were no tickets available on the non-stop flight from Kansas City to San Diego, we have a short trip to Denver with a layover for about ninety minutes. It’s not so bad, though. In fact, it’s kind of nostalgic considering this is the same route where Jeff and I first met.

  Jeff holds my hand through takeoff and landing, and about halfway through the flight, he falls asleep on my shoulder in a quick power nap. It’s truly amazing how so much can change in such a short amount of time. A ninety-minute flight. A nine-month pregnancy. I practically knew nine minutes into our first date that I wanted to keep him around for a long time.

  I guess deep down I’ve always known on some level that Jeff was it for me. Sitting next to him on the plane last year, his charming awkwardness was completely disarming. From the moment he smiled, my insides melted. His laughter was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and with every nervous look he shot my way during that flight, a little piece of him burrowed himself in my heart. He genuinely seemed like the kind of guy who had no idea just how awesome he truly was, and I knew I needed to know him better.

  Sometimes when you know, you just know.

  As always, the descent into Denver is terrible at best. The plane jerks and seemingly stutters with the change of air as visions of the plane falling out of the sky plague me.

  We’re both so relieved to be back on the ground once we de-plane in Denver, I’m half tempted to get down on my knees and kiss the ground. But I don’t. I mean I could, but the likelihood of me being able to get back up easily is slim, and I don’t want to be that pregnant woman who has an army of Good Samaritans trying to hoist her back to vertical.

  “Want to grab a bite to eat?” Jeff asks.

  My stomach gurgles in response. These days, it gurgles in response to just about everything, because no matter the question the answer is always food.

  How are you feeling today? Let's eat!

  Is the baby kicking? I'll take fries with that!

  Are you having a boy or a girl? A cheeseburger well done, please and thank you.

  Jeff laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He takes my backpack from his hands and pulls it up over his shoulder. “Are burgers okay?”

  I smile. “A burger is always okay. In fact, I’ve never met a burger I didn’t like.”

  I follow Jeff to this hole in the wall airport restaurant, and he stands in line to place our order while I walk into the seating area in search of a table. Based on how crowded this joint is, these burgers must be pretty damn good.

  “Ma’am?” a gravelly male voice calls out, and I feel a weak hand on my forearm as I'm walking by a large window overlooking the tarmac.

  Ugh. I hate it when people call me ma’am. My mother is ma’am. I am a twenty-something badass. A pregnant badass, but a badass nonetheless.

  I turn toward the voice, and I find an older gentleman with a warm smile and kind eyes. He’s wearing the kind of starched plaid button-up shirt you'd expect a man of his age to be wearing. His skin is paper thin, and his hair is a platinum crown of faded glory from years gone by.

  “We’re just about to leave if you’d like to take our table.” He looks from me to a spritely woman across the table from him. At the mere sight of her and her dyed magenta and cyan hair, he lights up. She’s wearing a cat T-shirt that reads How you like meow? And her glasses are as thick as thieves. She can’t be younger than eighty, but her wrinkled skin is masked by her youthful lust for life.

  I open my mouth to speak, but it appears I have forgotten how to talk. The old man cackles and reaches across the table to the woman. “She keeps me young. Once upon a time, I was a rock and roller, too. Now I prefer to just rock in my chair. Estelle, here, she still rocks.”

  “I can see that.” I don’t even bother fighting my smile. I love the way he’s looking at her, and the brightness they bring out in each other.

  “We’re on our way to Vegas to see AC/DC for her birthday. Backstage passes, you know.” He leans over and winks as he says the last part like he’s letting me in on a little-known secret.

  “How long have you been together?” I'm not being polite. I'm genuinely curious how a seemingly ordinary grandpa ended up with modern day Rockstar Barbie complete with a Debbie Harry rebel attitude.

  He lights up proudly. “We're going on sixty-two years this fall.”

  Whoa. I can’t even begin to imagine just how much they’ve seen together in their lifetime. “That’s impressive,” I say, wondering what their secret is.

  “Now I recognize we're no spring chickens, and the normal thing to do would be to hole ourselves up in some questionable old folks community. That's what our kids wanted us to do anyway. But when I met Estelle back in autumn of 1955, standing in line for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride when Disneyland first opened, I never imagined the wild ride we were about to embark on. Later that night we crossed paths by Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, and without ev
er saying a word, she came up to me and kissed me. It was the fifties. Things like that didn’t just happen, and they certainly didn't happen to normal guys like me! But I quickly understood that nothing about us would ever be normal, so no sense in fighting that. And I love that about us. Normalcy breeds boredom and a lackluster lifestyle. To get the most out of life and love, you have to constantly evolve together and make sure that the time you share isn't just time, it's quality. Some days that means me losing the last of my hearing at a death metal concert because it makes my love happy. And other days it means she sucks it up and gets lost in an art museum with me.”

  There’s something to be said about wisdom coming from the end of life.

  Estelle stretches her arm across the table and rests it gently on the man’s hand. She silently gestures down to her watch.

  “Oh my! We better skedaddle. Vegas waits for no one!” he says as he makes quick work of their trash before pulling out the chair for Estelle to help her up. Then he does the same for me, helping me and my growing belly down into the seat.

  “Thanks … for the table,” I say to the pair of them.

  Estelle smiles warmly at me and begins to move her fingers, signing words I don’t understand.

  Oh.

  And it’s the moment I realize I’ve never actually heard her speak. The dexterity in her fingers is mesmerizing and beautiful. But I still feel at a loss. “I … I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I say softly as she presses her lips in a solid line.

  “It’s okay, dear. She just said you remind her of herself when she was younger. And she’s right. There’s a unique spark about you similar to the one I was first drawn to when I met Estelle.” He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer. “Youth is wasted on the young. Don’t spend your time on normalcy and boring things. Just be your vibrant, sparkly self.”

  And with that, the pair turn and head toward their gate for Sin City where Estelle will no doubt throw her bra on stage and roam around the rest of the night sporting free range boobies.

  When Jeff and I are that old, I hope we’re half as cool and carefree as these two. I love our life, and while we may not be as unconventional as an old biddy whose wardrobe comes from Forever XXI, I wouldn't change our ass backwards ways for anything. Okay, strike that from the record. I would totally change a few things …

  Like maybe I would have actually waited until we got back to the hotel room before having sex at his brother’s wedding, thus avoiding a hundred plus people seeing my Spanx in all their glory. And stretch marks. I could really do without the evidence of my skin’s elasticity. And his love of nineties line dances. I don't care what Jeff says, there is nothing fun about doing the Macarena or Cha Cha Slide no matter how crowded the dance floor is.

  Dark clouds spill over the mountains and down through the foothills toward the airport. And I pray it's not some metaphorical sign of what's to come.

  “Hey, what are you thinking about?” Jeff sets the tray down in front of me, and I practically fall into a cheeseburger-coma from the orgasmic-inducing aroma of pure Angus beef topped with melted aged cheddar cheese. If this love is wrong, I don't want to be right. It's seduction at first sniff.

  This is, without a doubt, the most romantic thing he's done for me since … well, since last night where he unveiled this little surprise. I look from my food to Jeff, and I want to reach up, grab his face and go diving for his tonsils. But one thing will lead to another, and I’m not sure how sanitary these tables are. And it probably couldn't sustain our combined weight. Pre-pregnant Henley? It could totally withstand us. But the combined efforts of feeding this baby late night pizzas and Oreos and that fifteen-pound bag of gummy bears from Costco, gravity would inevitably win out, crumbling the table beneath us.

  Jeff raises his eyebrows, trying to read my mind.

  “Oh, just that I love how unconventional we are.”

  He hums softly with a smile. “Me too.” He leans down to give me a peck on the lips. It's not quite what I had in mind, but it'll have to do considering the audience. “I love how you let your weird light shine so brightly.”

  I snort. “I’m not weird. But if I am, the only reason you found me was because you were attracted to my weirdo light in the first place. Which makes you a weirdo, too.”

  But Jeff is right. This is the best airport cheeseburger I’ve ever had.

  After we finish, it doesn’t take us long to find our gate, and I settle into a chair after another pee break. I turn to see if our plane has arrived, and the sky opens up and unleashes its fury on the ground below. You can barely see ten feet out the window, and the audible pings of hail hitting the roof echo throughout the terminal. We're not going anywhere at the moment, so we do the only thing we can do …

  We watch in awe and wait.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention. Due to inclement weather, the Denver International Airport is grounding all flights until further notice. The cell is rather large, so we will keep you posted as soon as more information is available.”

  And just like that, pandemonium ensues. Passengers are sprinting toward desk agents at virtually all of the gates while others frantically make phone calls. It all feels a bit overdramatic to me. And still, I almost wish I had a tub of popcorn to watch it all throw down.

  “I’ll never understand why people freak out over things that are entirely out of their control.”

  “Oh?” Jeff cocks an eyebrow at me. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. It’s not like they’re going to be stuck here forever. Mother Nature doesn’t have a personal vendetta against everyone here. I’m sure the airlines are doing what they can to get us out of here as quickly as possible. I mean, the last thing they want to do is inconvenience everyone.”

  “I’m still stuck on you of all people talking about people freaking out about things they can’t control. I’d need multiple hands to count the number of times you’ve panicked over some facet of being pregnant.” He’s not saying it in a demeaning way. More of a Hey, Henley! Embrace the things you can’t control kind of way.

  The next few hours are spent playing card games in a random gate area with Jeff and keeping tabs on the weather on his phone. The cell was much bigger than anyone predicted. What started off as a catty little thunderstorm quickly turned into a bitchy meltdown from Mother Nature herself. If this were January and a blizzard with whiteout conditions, we'd all be prepared. I mean, it's Denver! The state slogan for the ‘Big D’ should be “In the winter, you don't know when it'll come, how long it'll last, or how many inches you'll get but enjoy it! Because when we get wet in the summer, we just shrivel up and render ourselves useless.” But I suppose thrusting ourselves into the air in a giant metal tube as lightning challenges thunder in a battle royale isn’t the most intelligent move.

  Eventually the novelty of riding out the storm wanes. I watch Jeff have a heated moment with the gate agent from afar and then storm off. “Well, it looks like we have two options,” he says when he finally reemerges.

  I raise an eyebrow at him curiously.

  “We can either stay here at the airport and hope to catch a flight out whenever things clear up. But the plane we were taking has been rerouted to Salt Lake City, and there's no contingency plan for our connection at this point in time.”

  Ugh. The thought of spending another minute here and risk sleeping on the floor while pregnant displeases me greatly. “What’s the other option? A hotel?”

  “Not exactly.” He grimaces. “Pretty much everything is sold out unless you want to stay at a one-star motel known for bedbugs.” We both cringe. “Between the Bronco’s home game and two conventions that are in town, we’d have to venture upwards of forty-five minutes outside the city to find a place to stay. And in these conditions, we’re under a flash flood warning.”

  “Okay? So what does that mean?”

  He chews on his thumb for a moment before sighing. He really doesn’t want to tell me whatever it is he’s thinking. “I
t means that if we’re not camping on the floor of the Denver airport, we’re renting a car and driving to my parents’ house. They're only about twenty minutes away. Though, at this rate, we may need to build an ark.” He looks out the window and sighs.

  I can't believe he's serious about venturing out into this mess.

  Jeff watches me cautiously, waiting for my reaction, but I don’t allow my expression to falter. Spending part of our babymoon with my future in-laws isn’t exactly how I imagined today going. Babymoons should be full of uncomfortable sex positions and annoying sobriety and simply enjoying one last vacation together (or in our case, our first ever vacation together) before this baby comes. Not conversations with your future in-laws, the very people you've been avoiding because you were sorta kinda caught plowing through the bean field at their family affair. But like I said earlier, the weather is not in our control and this way at least we have a comfortable bed to sleep in.

  I sigh in defeat. “Well, let’s hope that car comes with a few oars and floatation devices aside from my swollen boobs.” I stand up, grab my bag, and head in the direction of the rental cars with a wary Jeff on my heels.

  FULL MOON OVER 1999

  “My little Jeffey!”

  His mom walks toward him with open arms and puckered lips. The powder blue dress she wears is straight out of the 1950s, and the faint smell of chocolate chip cookies made from scratch lingers in the air. Trust me, my pregnancy nose hasn’t failed me yet. Her husband is right on her heels in a matching shirt and sweater vest.

  Mrs. Carrington leans in to kiss her son and tussle his hair like he’s five years old. “So good to see you, Mom. Thanks for letting us crash here on such short notice.”