by B. L. Berry
He has to sense that if he keeps laughing at me, I may inflict bodily harm upon him because somehow he’s able to collect himself. He gives me the kind of look that’s mixed with love and heartache and every emotion of I wish I could take this on for you, you crazy batshit woman. And the next thing I know, he’s kneeling on the floor wedged between the bathtub and the toilet, gently massaging the leg and nonexistent ankle I have propped up.
“Shhh …” he whispers as he works his strong hands into my swollen skin as he continues to dry my body off. “Calm down, Henley. It’s sweltering outside. You’re adorable, and you’re perfect, and you’re overreacting, and most importantly, you’re pregnant. This is all par for the course. I promise you, when you’re holding our son in your arms, it will be totally worth it, and all of this pain in the ass nonsense will be a distant memory.”
I focus on his words and controlling the cadence of my breath until the tears cease and he’s managed to dry my body. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he doesn’t dare leave me alone. He knows I need him more than words can ever say.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He looks up into my eyes with unspoken love. “I’d venture to say you’d be very wet right now … and sad, because you’d be missing out on all my awesomeness.” He smiles and without missing a beat continues, “and probably not pregnant.”
He’s right across the board.
I stand up and tug his arms, attempting to pull him up to his feet. “Come on, you. Let’s get outta here,” I say, and he follows me out of the bathroom.
“Can we address the big purple elephant in the room?” Jeff says as he watches me get dressed.
“What? The fact that your fiancée is a prime candidate for an ankle transplant?”
He smirks, and I’m trying to read his mind as he deliberately looks everywhere in the bedroom but my nearly naked body.
“That was a joke,” I clarify. “Not a very funny one considering you had to talk me off the ledge back there, but a joke nonetheless.” I grin, trying to make light of my ridiculousness, but his face doesn’t falter.
He’s silent for a moment, and my heart skips a beat, suddenly worried about this elephant he speaks of. “Why do we still have two places?” he asks with genuine curiosity laced in his voice.
I know I should have seen this coming, but between life and pretending that virgin pina coladas are just as good as the real thing and doing my best to not completely panic over the fact I’m pushing something the weight of a bowling ball through a tiny key hole in a few short months, it honestly slipped my mind. I’ve spent nearly every night at Jeff’s the past few months, though for whatever reason I’ve never officially moved in.
“I mean, we’re having a baby. We’re getting married at some point. From a resource and financial standpoint, it’s stupid to not be living together, even if your super Catholic parents disagree.”
Jeff makes a good point. I can say, with certainty, that even though we’ve clearly been doing the devil’s dance between the sheets and having a baby together, my mom would no doubt be against us living together before officially tying the knot. At this point, she’d probably disapprove of a shotgun wedding. I’m a little surprised Mom hasn’t pushed me to move back home so they could help with the baby, but then again, she’s probably still convinced I’ve got some stanky vajanky. I may as well load up the car and pack the snacks, because that guilt trip from my mother will take us all over the damn country.
I know, I know. I shouldn’t care what she thinks, or what anyone else thinks for that matter. But still, she’s my mom, and some tiny part of me will always strive for her approval.
I think that’s what kids do.
But he’s right. It’s stupid that we still have two places, and arguably, financially irresponsible. I’m not going anywhere. And as long as I don’t continue to have meltdowns over silly things like non-existent ankles, I don’t think he’s going anywhere either.
“Okay,” I say after slipping an oversized nightshirt over my growing body.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
He smiles.
“But I do have one little request.”
Jeff’s eyes narrow and he purses his lips at me in consideration. “What’s that?” he asks cautiously.
“We find a new place together. My apartment is out of the question considering months later it still reeks of plastic on fire. And as much as I love your humble bachelor abode, it’s not exactly conducive to a baby.”
His forehead wrinkles and I think I may have offended him. “What do you mean? There’s plenty of space here!”
Seriously? If I stretch my arms out in his kitchen, I can touch both walls simultaneously. I know he loves this place, but it’s just not right for a family of three. So I take the pragmatic approach.
“You’re on the third floor. And there’s no elevator. It’s bad enough making that trek while pregnant. But you try that a few times a day with a stroller and a twelve-pound baby.”
He stands in front of me and tries to wrap his arms around my body. It’s becoming tougher by the day. A smile plays at the edges of his mouth, and he licks his lips slowly like they do in the movies.
“If that’s all it takes to get the future Mrs. Carrington to live with me, then I will pack up both of our apartments right now and move you into the castle of your dreams.”
Jeff tilts his face and closes in, kissing me softly at first. But rapidly it grows into a deep, hungry kiss that I feel all the way in my toes. Every ounce of absurdity and pregnancy frustration melts away, just like my panties that I wiggle down past my hips and thighs.
Before I know it, we’re making out like two horny teenagers playing seven minutes in heaven. Except this heaven is our reality. And the only way this reality could possibly get any better was if this baby would quit kicking and interrupting the moment.
Little cock blocker.
The highlight of the second trimester was definitely Jeff and I moving in together, finally settling on a rental home we found in the Waldo neighborhood of Kansas City. Our modest three-bedroom is a brownstone walk-up full of charm, and maybe a little asbestos, but the landlord is taking care of that. I love the wood-burning fireplace, though, given my track record, Jeff says I’m not allowed near it with anything remotely flammable.
The nursery is coming along beautifully. We agreed not to find out the sex of the baby since it’s one of the last great surprises you can get in life, so we’ve stocked up on yellow and green clothes that look like they belong on a Cabbage Patch doll, and found an adorable woodland creature theme for his or her bedroom.
We don’t have any furniture yet, but at least this kid won’t be naked. Hopefully, we nail down the necessities at the baby shower next month. Until then, I’ve commandeered a chair from the kitchen table so I have somewhere to sit while Jeff works to prep the nursery.
“So, babe, I’ve been meaning to ask, how does it feel to have a penis growing inside of you?” Jeff asks as he hangs a tiny onesie with an x marked over a baby bottle that says ‘I drink straight from the tap’ on a baby blue hanger, and places it in the closet.
I scoff in disgusted horror. “You do realize that you have a fifty percent chance of being wrong, don’t you?”
He winks at me playfully.
“And that is the most repulsive and disturbing thing you’ve said in a long time. I have a penis inside of me? Seriously? That’s as bad as Tara trying to convince me that the few times she and her husband tried to have sex while she was pregnant constituted an orgy since she was expecting triplets.”
“Okay, now that’s just wrong. And incestual. I love your friend, but I don’t need that particular visual seared in my mind the next time we’re all hanging out together.”
I chuckle, and Jeff comes inside the nursery to take a seat on the ottoman in front of me. His face turns serious, and I instantly know where this conversation is headed before he eve
n says a word. We just had this conversation last week.
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He feigns innocence.
“Don’t ask me again right now. I beg you.”
He places his hands on my legs, gently brushing his thumbs against my knees and sighs audibly. “Hen, our families are asking. We should really give them some kind of details of where our heads are at with this wedding.”
I shift uncomfortably in the wooden chair. Every time Jeff suggests making plans for our wedding, I have to remind him to come back down to earth. There is no way I am planning a wedding until after this baby has been evicted from my body.
“I know, it’s just that I think we should wait to get married. Nobody wants to see a bride waddle down the aisle only to have her go into labor at the altar. If we have a shotgun wedding before this kid debuts, then everyone is going to think I’m a floozy.”
“Henley, you’re already pregnant. If that makes you a floozy, then you’re my floozy. Besides, they’re not going to think that. This is the twenty-first century. And I’ve never been one to be conventional. We are anything but conventional, remember?”
His beautiful baby blues plead with me to give him something. Anything to get his mother to stop nagging. “Okay. Let’s try this. Big or small? If we can give my folks some kind of inkling of what to expect, that ought to buy us another week or two.”
I wrap my arms around my belly and slowly rub tiny circles, trying to figure out how to best answer the question. “I know my parents want to throw a big wedding for me, but really I just want a small celebration. If I had my way, we’d elope. It’d be just the two of us.”
He raises a knowing eyebrow at me and then looks to my baby bump.
“Okay … the three of us.” I smile, gently patting my stomach. It’s kind of surreal that this is my life now.
“So you wouldn’t want your family there at all?”
“It’s not that I don’t want them there. It’d be nice to have them there, for sure. It’s just that everything I need is right here in front of me. And my mom tends to overdo things. Heck, she even threw a party when I first got my period. Congratulations on bleeding without dying every month for the next forty years! Have a cookie cake!” I laugh then lean over to press my lips against his. Jeff wraps his hand around the back of my neck, deepening the kiss and tangling his fingers in my hair. When he pulls back, there’s a look in his eye that can only be described as complete and total adoration.
“I love you, woman.”
“I know. What’s not to love? I am pretty awesome.”
“That you are.”
ASSHOLES AND APOLOGIES
From the kitchen, I can hear Jeff fumbling with his keys. It’s not the first time he’s tried to get in using the wrong key, but this sounds like he’s murdering our front door.
Death by keying. May the wood rest in peace.
Just as I’m making my way to the front of the house to open it for him, it flings open, and Jeff swings through the entryway, grasping onto the doorknob.
“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Door,” he sings as he props himself up against it and gives it a hearty slap.
What the…?
His eyes are half open, and his tie is unknotted and draped from his neck. His hair is beyond disheveled, and it looks like Beelzebub himself chewed him up and spit him back out. When he finally realizes I’m a few feet away, his expression turns somber.
“Jeff …?”
This is Jeff, right?
He finally releases the door and closes it behind him. “I thought you were going over to Tara’s tonight.” His words are laced with arsenic, and he narrows his eyes at me. And in some ways, it looks like he’s been run over by a steamroller. I don’t like the underlying accusation in his voice, but I brush it off and lay blame on the alcohol he cozied up with.
“That was the plan. But Miles ended up with some kind of stomach virus, and we both thought it would be best for me to stay home rather than rent a hazmat suit to hang out with her.”
He takes a long exhale and looks at me, pained. I swear I see tears prick the corners of his eyes. Dare I say he looks … guilty?
“Are you okay, Jeff?”
He presses the length of his body back against the door and exhales slowly. “Yes. No. I mean, I'm fine. I uh … I just went out after work. Had some drinks with the guys. You know. The usual.”
I want to say that no, I don't know. This moment is anything but usual for him. He rarely gets drinks with the guys from work, but calling him out on that now probably isn’t the best idea. And so I choose to focus on some of his other words.
“Some drinks? How many is some?”
I hate the tone in my voice right now, but I can't help it. I'm not the kind of woman who gets upset when her boyfriend goes drinking. But this is absolutely off the rails for him. I don’t remember the last time I saw Jeff drunk. At least not while being completely wasted alongside him. I have to admit, it kind of sucks being the sober one at the moment. And not because I miss alcohol — don’t get me wrong, I do, but ever since I got pregnant, he’s made a diligent effort to avoid any alcohol. Just another testament of how we’re in this together. But perhaps that effort has turned him into a cheap date as he is now a lightweight.
Jeff’s eyelids droop as he starts to slide his back down the door and his ass hits the ground.
“Oh my God! How shit-faced are you right now?”
“I’m not fit-shaced!” he slurs.
I stifle a laugh. “Suuuure you’re not. Come on — let’s get you into bed.” I walk toward him with my arms outstretched ready to pull him back up to his feet. I just hope that by the morning whatever he’s feeling can be cured with a little hair of the dog and a greasy hangover burrito from the shady Mexican joint down the road.
Once semi-standing, he trips over his feet before wrapping an arm around my shoulder and teetering himself upright.
“That’s it! Do you need to go to the bathroom before you lay down?”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head wordlessly. We're halfway down the hall when he stops dead in his tracks, pausing me with him.
“YOU!” he bellows, stabbing his finger in the air at me. Then his expression melts into a sad smile. “I … I lo …” He’s on the cusp of tumbling over, and I grab him, keeping him upright. “I love you, Henley ...”
His tone is almost sad as he trails off on my name.
“I love you, too, babe.” And I’m unsure if I should be concerned or scared at this moment.
Jeff brings his face down to my stomach. “And I love you too, little dude.”
When we get to the bedroom, he plows face first into the pile of pillows, not even bothering to undress or get under the covers. I kneel on the edge and wrestle his dress shoes off of his feet before crawling up to the headboard to sit with him. I know I can’t leave him alone right now.
“Rough day at the office?”
“Uh huh,” he grunts.
“Wanna talk about it?” I run my fingertips through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He’s always been a happy drunk. The kind of drunk that makes everyone laugh and forget all about the troubles in the world. This is definitely a side of Jeff I’ve never seen.
“Nope.” He’s short. Curt. And it makes my heart hurt as we can always talk about anything.
I sigh.
He sighs.
And it feels like the whole damn world sighs right along with us.
This is the moment that I’ve been waiting for. The moment when all of the stress and reality of becoming a dad hits him all at once, and he does a swan dive into the pool of regret. Jeff is finally having that inevitable moment of panic that Tara warned me about.
Cam had left for a fishing trip with the boys and somehow ended up on a three-day bender where upon day three he climbed up onto a highway billboard and fell asleep wearing nothing but a Mexican wrestling mask and a grass hula skirt. The thought of having not one but three sons was enough to sen
d him sprinting leaping off the proverbial edge.
I love him dearly, but this is kind of an asshole move. A little warning would have been nice.
“Okay, well at least let me get you some water.”
I roll my big belly off the bed and grab a glass of water from the kitchen, then head to the bathroom for some Tylenol and a vitamin. Jeff will no doubt be in a world of hurt when he wakes up in the morning, so I want to do anything I can to help minimize the damage. Tomorrow’s a big day. We’re supposed to head to the store to finish building our baby registry since the shower is coming up soon.
By the time I return back to the bedroom less than thirty-seconds later, he’s snoring louder than an elephant stampede. I watch the slow rise and fall of his back for a moment before setting the glass of water down on the night stand.
“I love you, you crazy man of mine.” I lean down and kiss his temple, then turn to leave to finish cleaning the kitchen. Just as I’m pulling the door shut, Jeff mumbles, “I’m sorry.”
And confusion steamrolls over my heart, breaking it into tiny little pieces.
To say I didn’t sleep well last night is an understatement. Mostly because that assumes I was actually capable of sleeping. Which I wasn’t. And because this wretched baby shower is only a few weeks away, I still have to get my registry ironed out, with or without the help of Captain Hangover.
Thank God for Tara. When I texted her earlier asking if she’d come with me, she simply wrote back, “A day without wiping three asses? I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Before I leave I place an orange Gatorade on the kitchen counter next to a note.
Off to finish the registry with T. I hope today’s headache is enough punishment for last night’s decisions. Feel better.
XOXO - H
A little passive aggressive? Maybe. But when you’re sleeping for two you need as much rest as you can get. And whatever he's dealing with is seriously hindering my sanity.