by A. M. Wilson
“Like what?”
“Here, give me your hand.” I offer it to her, and she uses hers to maneuver mine around the top of my bump. “Feel how hard it is?”
Leaning up on one elbow, I survey my belly as if I can visualize what she means. “It’s not supposed to feel like that? I-I guess I noticed it being hard but thought that was normal since there’s a baby in there.”
“It’s probably nothing more than Braxton Hicks, especially since you aren’t feeling it. I’d like to monitor you here for a little while to see if they’re contractions. And possibly do an exam.”
Don’t make a face. Don’t make a face!
She goes on. “The good news is, your measurement is perfect thus far for your due date, and your vitals look good. We’ll just keep you here a bit as a precaution, but I’m confident everything will check out.”
“Oh, okay.” I lie on the table and wait. She retrieves a nurse and whatever else they need. The nurse who took my vitals comes back with her, wheeling in a cart stacked with a machine.
“All right, Kiersten. Deann will get you set up with the non-stress test, and I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”
Deann wastes no time selecting belts from drawers below the cart and straps them to my belly.
“This one monitors the baby’s heart rate, and this other one will pick up your contractions. All I need is for you to relax, and the doctor will read the results at the end.”
The words fly right over my head because I’m trying to make sense of the monitor screen.
“I need to know what it means,” I stammer, the stress forcing my voice into nearly a whisper.
“Honey, you don’t have to worry. You’re in good hands. Let me show you.” She points at the number flashing in the 150s. “This is your baby’s heart rate. Nice and strong, Momma. It looks good. This here,” she says, gesturing to a moving sort of graph on the bottom, “is tracking your contractions. If you pay close attention, you might be able to feel your belly tightening until it hits the peak here and then slowly releasing until the next one.”
“So I’m really having contractions?”
“Braxton Hicks. Think of them as practice contractions. Are you okay? I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
She has other patients who need her attention. I offer a grateful smile even though it feels as if my face cracks. “Thank you for explaining this to me. I’ll be fine.”
The door shuts on her way out, and the heavy silence suffocates. Now that she pointed it out, I watch the monitor diligently and feel the subtleness of my belly tightening over and over again. Five minutes between one, two between another. Three minutes. All the while, my little boy’s heart stays strong and steady.
The anxiety coursing through my body is almost too much to handle. Loneliness presses down on me like an invisible force. I tell myself I don’t need to call anyone even as I dig my phone from my pocket. That I’m strong enough to endure this one thing alone.
Even if that’s true, should I have to? The true strength comes from being vulnerable enough to reach out to your tribe even when we’re strong enough to endure it alone.
I tap on his name and wait and wait. With each ring, my breath increases until the voicemail box picks up, and it stalls altogether.
Dammit. Annoyance chokes out the fear like a crushing fist.
“Nathan, it’s me again. Our baby is okay, but I’m still here having a test done. I thought if you still wanted to come by, you could. I should be here for twenty more minutes or so.” God, I sound so stupid. “I-I needed you today, but if you don’t want to be involved, you could send a text as a courtesy.” My voice cracks, and a tear drips from the corner of my eye. I end the call before my emotions get the best of me, and I beg him to show up like I want to. I’m alone, and I’m scared. Both the doctor and nurse made it seem like this wasn’t that big of a deal, but it’d be nice to have someone familiar to lean on. Someone who wants to be here.
The thought reminds me that I do have someone. I have several someones.
I scroll to the top of my contact list and jab the button to call Cami at home. The phone trills once.
“Hello?” Law’s deep, masculine voice is like a sledgehammer against the dam containing my emotions.
“It’s, um, i-it’s …” I hiccup, and the tears flood loose, clogging my throat and my nose and making it even harder to breathe.
“Kiersten? What’s the matter?” he barks, instantly on high alert.
“Is Cami home?” I finally push out. Although it comes out in one high-pitched iscamihome.
His deep voice rumbles across the line, soothing now that he realizes it’s not an imminent danger and rather female emotions. “She’s out with Evelyn. What’s going on, honey?”
I drag in a lungful of air that feels anything but satisfying. Everything is constricted. “I had a scare. At my appointment. I’m just really alone.”
“He’s not there?” The edge to his tone is unmistakable. As is who he refers to. The two are friendly now, but that wasn’t always the case, especially when they were mid-pissing match over Cami not so long ago.
“No, he didn’t show.”
Law mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch across the line.
“Do you need me there?”
Some of the pain in my heart eases a little at his offer. My best friend got herself one of the good ones. I’ve navigated my entire adult life by myself, but knowing men like Law exist makes it hard to pretend I’m fine all alone.
If I were honest with myself, I’d admit I want one of the good ones too.
“This is good enough, Law. I let my worry get away from me. I needed a human distraction. The pamphlets about chlamydia aren’t cutting it,” I deadpan.
“I don’t know how good I am at distracting, but my ear is always open.”
“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” I blurt out and bite my first knuckle as soon as the words are out.
A long pause follows.
“In what way? Keeping your baby?”
“Oh, no, not that. I’m solid on that decision.”
“Good because you’ll be a shit good mom, and I didn’t want to get into that with you.”
“Law…” I blink back tears.
“For real, Kiersten, and I’ll only say this once because I’m not a sappy guy, but you practically raised Evelyn with Cami when she was doing this mom thing all alone. I’ve heard the stories. There’s a reason you get away with being Aunt K with zero blood relation, so there’s not even a question that you’ve got this. So now I need you to tell me what you’re questioning so I can get the doubt out of your head before it festers.”
The paper pillow crinkles behind my head as I shift back and stare at the white tiled ceiling.
“Normally, you’d be the last person I’d say this to, but you were unfortunate enough to answer the phone, so I guess we’ll see how good your advice gets. I’m wondering if I’m doing the right thing with Nathan. Should we be trying to make this work right now before the baby comes?”
“You’re right about the unfortunate part.” He sighs through the line, and I can hear him moving around his house, antsy to end this conversation. “That besides, he’s not there. I’m guessing you wouldn’t be asking this question if he’d been pushing for a relationship. All points considered, you’re doing the right thing at this time.”
“Then why does it feel wrong?”
“Does it feel wrong, or does it feel hard?”
A light bulb dings in my head. I’m feeling weak and afraid and having a moment. Nothing more complicated than that.
He continues. “If you keep on the course you set yourself on, you’re going to end up where you want to be. Whether that includes something more for you and him, only time will tell. Even if it doesn’t, the two of you are friends. This won’t be the fallout after a failed relationship. You’re solid. Stick to your foundation, and the two of you will rock this co-parenting thing.”
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The relief reflects on the heart monitor attached to me. “Thank you, Law.”
“Hey, anytime. And if you need me to tell him to pull his head out of his goddamn ass, I’d be happy to do it, but I think you’ve got a handle on things just fine.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and check the time. The doctor should be in any minute. “You’re right. I do have this. I’m going to let you go now, but Law?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you again.”
His voice reveals his smile. “Bye, Kiersten.”
“Bye.”
I tap my screen to end the call. My neck relaxes against the papery pillow behind my head. After a few deep, focused breaths, the fear and tension ease. Everything is going to work out exactly as it’s supposed to. That’s my mantra from now on.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and I turn my head in that direction as it creaks open. Dr. Fischer smiles kindly as she comes inside.
“How are you doing? Hanging in there?”
A thin smile stretches my lips. “A little nervous.”
She purses her mouth as she looks at the stream of paper on the top of the machine.
“Don’t be nervous. Everything looks okay here. You’re having contractions, but they’re irregular. Let’s get the exam out of the way, and we can talk about things.”
Thankfully, I don’t end up in the throes of an orgasm, and the exam is finished before I know it. Dr. Fischer washes her hands and leaves me to dress, returning moments later.
“Sock it to me, doctor.”
“Braxton Hicks contractions are perfectly normal during pregnancy. Think of them as practice contractions. From your exam, they are producing some mild changes to your cervix that I’d like to keep an eye on going forward. I’d like you to schedule your next appointment for two weeks from now. I’d also like you to keep a log either on your phone or in a notebook when you feel the contractions.”
“Is this as worrisome as it sounds?” I bite the edge of my thumbnail as loneliness intensifies again.
“It’ll probably amount to nothing. Just in case, I want you to give the hospital or me a call if you have regularly spaced contractions five to seven minutes apart that don’t get better with rest, if they become painful, or you experience bleeding.”
She clicks around on her computer and gets me a printout with this information. After bidding her goodbye, I schedule my next appointment in two weeks and get in my car to return to work.
Still no word from Nathan.
As much as I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, anger continues to well up inside me. A fountain without an off switch.
14
Kiersten
When I hear the fist pounding loudly on my front door, I contemplate ignoring it. Not because I’m nursing a bad mood. Though that’s part of it. My place on the couch feels perfect after cocooning my ass for the past hour and a half. The spot is warm, and curved around my hips, I have a pillow in the small of my back and one beneath my belly, and my throw blanket is tucked into all the right places. Plus, I have snacks. Delicious salty chips and a pile of chocolate I dug from my useless period stash. Who in their right mind would get up when they have snacks? I’ve even delayed bathroom breaks as long as possible. Though that’s getting harder to do as the little man uses my bladder as a trampoline.
My phone has also been ringing nonstop, an unwelcome interruption to the nap I’ve looked forward to since I left the clinic and went to work for twelve hours. The stress of the morning drained the life right out of me. Or maybe the baby zaps all my energy.
Like father, like son.
One dramatic eye roll reminiscent of a diva escapes while the noise continues.
“What!” I screech over the sound of the sitcom on my television, knowing the racket maker can hear me just fine.
“Let me in!” Nathan shouts back. He sounds more pissed than I think I’ve ever heard him. The mature thing would be to get up and let him in, but let’s be real. When have I ever been known to be mature?
“Go away!”
“So help me god, Kiersten. Open the damn door!”
My teeth snare my lip to stifle a giggle. He said damn. So cranky.
“Your cursing is only sexy when you’re fucking me!”
A noise comes through the wood, sounding a bit like a deep laugh and a growl. I wish I knew which one. He won’t go away. He’ll stand there until I face him and hear what he has to say.
Seconds later, the lock snicks, and my front door swings open.
“Hey! Who turned you into a magician?”
Nathan barrels through and kicks my door shut with his brown booted foot while my spare key dangles from his index finger. I forgot that was out there. That fake rock thing blends in so well with the real ones that I couldn’t select it from a lineup.
“Are you okay?” he rumbles deeply, his brow creased and eyes sad. His arms hang loose at his sides as if he doesn’t know what to do with them and forgot they exist.
“Why don’t you sit?” I scooch back in my cocoon and pat the now empty space with my painted toes.
“Is our baby okay?”
His statement softens my frustrated heart. Calling him ours, instead of yours or mine, makes me feel more like a team. Like we’re in this together, even when he can’t get his shit together and be there for me.
Fucking infuriating, complicated, intoxicating mess of a man. I remind myself not to get distracted by his pretty words.
“We’re okay.”
A muscle twitches in his tight jaw. He looks away and runs his fingers through his unruly hair. Nodding once at my empty kitchen, he turns back and finds his way to the empty cushion, dropping heavily onto it. Elbows solid on his thighs, his head falls into his hands.
“What happened?” he rasps, his voice the creak of a failing bridge.
I want to make demands. Part of me curdles with rage. Misunderstandings reach a boiling point to know why he wasn’t there this morning. But something knows this isn’t about me as much as it’s about Nathan. Life hasn’t been kind to him the past couple of years. Proof that shitty things can happen to the best of us. The least deserving. Losing his wife settled a darkness over this once carefree man that he’s just recently started breaking through. His breakthrough over the last year rekindled the light.
Until I came along.
My weak imagination can’t comprehend what’s been going through his mind since finding out about the pregnancy, and I’m working hard to give him time to figure it out.
Even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Not a single one of my family or friends would describe me as patient, but for Nathan, I want to be.
I steady my nerves and will my racing heart to slow. “The doctor noticed during my appointment that I was having contractions. I had to stay for monitoring, but everything is fine.”
Nathan’s skeptical look sears right through me.
“It’s mostly fine,” I amend.
“Any woman having contractions at six months pregnant is not what I’d call fine. Are you on bed rest?”
“No bed rest. We moved my next appointment up two weeks so she can check me again.”
“Text me the date and time. I’ll be there.”
My hand extends, craving a connection with him. I deny us both and return it to my lap.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to be there.”
“No.” Why is being vulnerable so damn hard? I force myself to look him in the eye and worry my trembling lip. A touch of grit inflects my tone. “I don’t want you to make promises you won’t keep. Don’t say you’ll be there if you won’t be.”
“I’m sorry about this morning. I know it looks fucking terrible.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I had a-a schedule conflict that I couldn’t cancel. It ran longer than I thought, and I had to rush back to work.”
“What sort of conflict?” The curiosity overrides the part
of me that wants to leave him alone.
“I had an appointment.” Shame colors his cheeks crimson and gives away everything and nothing at the same time.
It’s my turn for a skeptical look. “Couldn’t swing by my station to say hi?”
He returns a look of his own. “You tell me since you’re the one taking the calls.”
“So it was crazy today,” I huff. “You can get off on that technicality, but it doesn’t excuse not even sending a text to check in.”
His teeth sink into his lower lip, and he nods. Remorseful eyes stare into mine, the look in them sinking deep into my bones.
“I tried to call.” His eyes drop to his palms dangling between his knees. He studies them, turning them, as if the appendages are new and haven’t existed since birth.
“Yeah, well. By then, I didn’t want to talk to you."
“Cami already handed my ass to me after she heard from Law that you couldn’t get ahold of anyone to be with you.” His eyes flash to mine. The glint reveals his displeasure with my chat with Law. “I’ve been a wreck all day, thinking of you being alone. Waiting until I could get here. That’s the absolute truth.” Even without his sweet words, the distress etched on his face betrays his inward thoughts. He takes his actions hard, and I don’t need to pile more on him.
If he showed up with attitude and blame, I’d absolutely tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. But I’m not the type of woman to make him get on his knees and prove his remorse to me. He said I’m sorry, and it’s far from empty.
That doesn’t mean I can’t eke out just a tiny bit of extra apology.
“You’re forgiven this one time. On one condition.”
The dimple of his right cheek pokes through a slight grin and obliterates the heaviness. I hope our son inherits those dimples.
“Food? It’s food, isn’t it? Where do you want me to go?”
My mouth waters thinking of the nachos from a few weeks ago. I could definitely pound down some of those. But it isn’t food I want. Sex. NO! It isn’t sex either.
Oh, my god, Kiersten, stop thinking about sex, or he’ll read it written all over your face.
