by A. M. Wilson
Panic etches itself into the lines and creases on Nathan’s face as I emerge. I look at him, and the ire from last night evaporates. All I feel is grateful to have him close when I need him.
“I need to go to the hospital. I’m bleeding.”
In real time, his face turns stark white. He spares a glance at Cami, takes one step forward, and picks me up with a jolt. An arm each supports my knees and back. Feeling a quiet comfort wrapped in his strong embrace allows the tears to flow. I tuck my head into the warm crook of his neck.
“I’m scared.”
He squeezes me tighter.
“Me too.”
“Where are you going? The parking lot is the other way!” Cami’s voice forces me to pull my face out of the comfort of his neck.
“You can’t be serious. Turn around!” I shout at him as he rushes to the ambulance bay.
Intentional or lost in thought, he chooses to disregard me. I slap his chest.
“You’re not driving me lights and sirens for a little bleeding. Take me to your damn truck.”
He looks down at me, his lips a compressed, white line, and changes course to the parking lot.
“Thank you.” I squeeze his neck and settle back down in his embrace. Using his scruffy chin, he brushes my hair back and delivers a chaste kiss to my temple.
“You’re going to be okay. Both of you are going to be okay.”
I’m not a religious person, but I pray to God he’s right.
For me. For our baby.
But also for Nathan.
Because I don’t know what it’d do to him to lose either one of us.
21
Kiersten
Our arrival to the hospital is a lot less dramatic than the movies make it out to be. Nobody rushes to our vehicle with a gurney. A team of doctors isn’t waiting to scoop me into the ER for immediate testing, though it doesn’t take long from the time we arrive at the hospital to be admitted to the OB floor. That scares me more than the bleeding does because it tells me they think this threat to my baby could be serious.
They have me changed into a gown and hooked up to the baby monitor with a blood pressure cuff on one arm and an IV in the other all within the first few minutes of getting settled. The sterile interior does nothing to ease my anxiety, and the scent of medicine heightens my stress.
A male doctor I haven’t met yet wanders in and checks the baby monitor first.
“Kiersten, I’m Dr. Grimm. I’ve been told you’ve had some bleeding?”
“Uh, sorry?” Still stuck on his name, I miss the question. Is this a cruel joke? It’s like a dentist being named Dr. Cavity. There should be a protocol for changing a name to be a doctor if it falls into the category of doom, gloom, or dying.
“Can you tell me about the bleeding? When did you first notice it?”
I relay my morning, earning a stern glower from Nathan and a stare from the doctor when I mention my mile-long walk. I never did get around to talking about it when I arrived at work. Nathan looks ready to take me over my knee, but thankfully, the doctor steals his attention.
“The good news is baby looks good. We’re going to keep you here for monitoring. I’d like to order an ultrasound to look at your placenta and cervix to make sure nothing else is going on. This just happens sometimes. We’ll know more after the scans.”
“Is it my fault?” The question comes out quietly. I need to know if I could have prevented this somehow.
The doctor’s smile is genuinely kind. “No. A walk like that shouldn’t cause this.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll check back later after your scan.”
The doctor leaves and closes the door behind him. Nathan uncrosses his arms and takes a seat in the chair beside my bed.
“I’m glad he didn’t have to perform an exam. Can you imagine—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I growl and drop my head back onto the paper pillow.
“What? You know how pissed I’d be having to witness you come on another man’s hand after what we did last night?” His husky murmur does nothing except turn me on, as do the images sparking to life in my brain.
“Stop. I think it’s safe to say my sex life is over for the foreseeable future. Which means yours is too,” I tack on that last part even though I don’t have the right. Hey, I’m stuck in a hospital bed after a scary morning. I’ll use every advantage I can, knowing he won’t start an argument right now.
“In light of this morning, I’d like us to revisit our topic from last night.”
Crap. Seems he isn’t above using his own advantages either.
“Let’s just see what the doctor says after the scans, okay? I could be perfectly fine. Maybe we went at things a little too rough last night. Broke a blood vessel or something.”
“Or something,” he mutters cryptically and looks away.
The nurse chooses that moment to take me for my scan, and when I return, he’s gone.
“First of all, the scan didn’t show any abnormalities. That’s not to say there isn’t something there, but it could be a number of things. Simple changes to the cervix can cause a small amount of bleeding. Intercourse can also have that effect. That being said, it’s best to place you on bed rest, and your regular doctor can reevaluate at your next appointment in two weeks.”
The mention of intercourse drums up images of Nathan and wondering where the heck he is. At the mention of bed rest, all questions cease.
“What all does bed rest entail exactly?”
“I’m sorry, Kiersten. It’s unfortunate as it sounds. Strict bed, or couch, rest except to make short meals and bathroom breaks.”
“What about work? I work in dispatch. I sit all day.” I’m not above pleading. The thought of being a prisoner in my own house sounds horrid.
“I understand, but you’ll need to take time off. The point is to keep you off your feet and also at a lower stress level.”
I contemplate yelling at him or, I don’t know, throwing the TV remote like a toddler having a tantrum. If I take time off now, I won’t have any leave left for after the baby is born. This will cut into my paid maternity leave.
“I’m sorry to bring more bad news. However, you are also having some readings of elevated blood pressure, so we’d also like to keep you overnight.”
“Did you say high blood pressure? That can be bad, right?” Some corner of my brain registers hearing about blood pressure and pregnancies, but I can’t recall the details.
“It can be. We’ll decide if there’s any additional course of treatment tomorrow after we have a few more readings.”
“You’re right. That is more bad news,” I grumble.
Dr. Grimm kindly pats my knee. “I think overall, everything will be just fine, but we want you to be safe. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I mutter.
“Get a good night’s sleep.”
Nathan passes the doctor on his rush into my room, giving him a brief nod. My heart beats a little bit slower at his return, and I don’t have to wonder if this is another fight.
He rushes to my bedside. “I’m sorry. I stepped out to make a phone call, and it went a lot longer than I thought.” He perches on the side of my bed and cradles my hand. His proximity envelops me in his woodsy scent, drowning out the sterile hospital smell.
“Is everything okay?”
His smile is tentative. “Let’s talk about our baby. What did the doctor say?”
Tucking that obvious brush-off away, I relay what the doctor said, as little information as it was.
“Kiersten …” He scrubs his cheek.
“Don’t even say it. I know you want me to stay with you, or you to stay with me. Even being bedridden, I can still get around enough to take care of myself. Actually, if you ask me, there’s even less of a reason to cohabitate because I’m basically a piece of furniture for the next two weeks.”
“I don’t understand how it doesn’t make sense to you
to stay with me. The convenience—”
“I don’t want things to be convenient! Or inconvenient!”
A nurse walking by the open door shoots a disproving look into my room. I give her angry eyes back, not giving a damn. Maybe if this escalates, she’ll tell him to leave, and this argument can be over.
He releases my hand and stands to pace beside my bed. “You aren’t an inconvenience. I don’t even want you there so I can baby you. Did you ever think I want you close for my own peace of mind? Knowing you’re across the hall rather than across town will help me sleep better at night.”
I purse my lips and glare. “Okay, so I didn’t think of it like that, no. But you’re making me feel like I’m seventy-five, and you’re trying to force me to wear Life Alert! If my best friend can leave home and raise a baby at sixteen, I should have no problem managing at thirty-seven.”
“Is that what this is?” His voice lowers several decibels. “You aren’t in a competition with Cami. Having your first child twenty years older than she did means you’re even more equipped to tackle motherhood.”
“Aren’t I, though?” I hate the way my voice wobbles.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you tried to date her not so long ago.” I blow out a harsh breath. “Man, I thought this wasn’t an issue for me, and it’s not. But you could be doing this with someone more experienced in this department if things had gone differently.”
Nathan stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and leans back against the wall behind him.
“No, I wouldn’t, for a myriad of reasons. Would you like me to list them?” His cocky confidence softens some of the ache from admitting my insecurity.
“Yes, please.”
He flips out his index finger. “First of all, I pursued her out of comfort more than anything else. I had Janessa, and when she died, there was Cami and you. And you …” He chuckles. “You’re wild, babe. And I didn’t think I could handle your brand of wild after the past couple of years of my life tore me apart. I was looking for safe.”
“So why not stick with safe?” I ask, not feeling better at his explanation.
“Because it took getting drunk and nearly punched in the face to wake me up. You may have been too drunk to remember that night, but I spent it watching you suck face with my best friend. Too much gin nearly cost me all of the people I care about because I was fucking lonely and too scared to admit it. Pathetic.” He clenches his jaw and looks away from me.
“Nathan, honey, it’s understandable that after all you went through, you’d gravitate toward someone comfortable and easy.”
He startles me by crossing the room and climbing onto the bed with me.
“This wasn’t supposed to be in the cards for me.” He leans down and spans a protective hand over my belly. “Yet here he is. Janessa’s death was horrible, but she taught me how to love. Losing her so young showed me that life doesn’t just stop because she’s no longer here. And this … this baby, and equally as importantly, you, show me that I deserve to have wild and crazy rather than simply comfortable.”
“Nathan.” I choke on his name, and tears burn the corners of my eyes.
“If you’re worried, please stop right now. I never felt an ounce for Cami what I feel for you. And there’s nobody else on the planet I’d rather create a life with than you. Experience be damned.”
“Does it worry you that we don’t know what we’re doing?”
Nathan lurches forward and plants a chaste kiss on my forehead, then tucks himself tightly to my side in the narrow hospital bed.
“Every damn second of the day.”
22
Kiersten
Bed rest sucks. There isn’t a clearer way to put it. I think after ten days, my body’s started to merge with the guest bed at Nathan’s.
I’ve refused to utter his victory in the entire time I’ve stayed at his house, but we both know I lost the argument.
Until now. He went to work this morning, and I’ve decided I had enough.
Me staying here placated him, but there’s nothing I’ve done at his house that I couldn’t be doing in my own. He goes to work, and I sit on the daybed in his sparsely decorated guest room, flipping through various streaming services and binge-watching whatever terrible reality TV show catches my eye first.
The good part—besides seeing his handsome face, I can begrudgingly admit—is the subscription meal plan that delivers fresh, chef-cooked meals to his doorstep once a week. That means all I’ve had to do for sustenance is pull the film off and nuke them in the microwave for two minutes. Voila! Lunch.
He’ll figure out pretty quickly that when I snuck back to my house this morning, I took the rest of this week’s meals with me. I can argue they’re for our baby more than they’re for me.
Sneaking into a cab today filled me with more shame than leaving that same house the morning of our one-night stand. At least then I had the lovely sex afterglow to bask in. Today, I just feel like a criminal.
Like a good little pregnant woman, I put away my fresh meals and make myself at home on my couch with the TV on.
See? Exactly like at Nathan’s.
My phone rings halfway through some engrossing matchmaker show, though I’d never admit that out loud.
“Hey, Mimi,” I answer, muting the television before she hears talk of sex and alcohol and starts lecturing me on watching “the devil’s home movies.”
“Child, when are you coming to visit me? I don’t have forever left, you know.” She starts the conversation as she usually does, griping about how little I visit her.
“Mimi, I’m on bed rest right now. I can’t go anywhere right now.”
“Ptsh. Your generation is so weak. Child, when I was pregnant, I didn’t get the opportunity to lie around. There’s always something to clean.”
See? Even Mimi thinks bed rest is crap.
“I’d love to be at work, but my doctor has ordered me to lie down. I have to keep the baby safe.”
“You haven’t been putting your hands above your head, have you? That’s bad for the baby. You have to keep them below your shoulders.”
I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m pretty sure that’s not real.”
“Pregnant one time and think you know everything.”
“Aren’t you the generation that used to inject pee into rabbits to test for pregnancy?”
“Not your Mimi. I always knew as soon as I could smell the peaches.”
I don’t know if this is a normal conversation or the start of dementia. “Mm-hmm,” I mumble not sure what else to say to that comment.
“First time I was pregnant, walked into my sister’s kitchen and clear across the room I could smell her peaches! It was the strangest thing. Once that baby was born, I made your papa buy peaches weekly and keep them in a bowl. Every single time I could smell them, I was pregnant.”
I guess that’s one way to get it done. This also reveals my grandparents had a lot of sex if Papa bought peaches every week. Yikes.
I cringe knowing she can’t see me. “Interesting.”
“Anyway, your mother wants to know when we can come visit since you never have time to come out here.”
Please, someone, send me patience. Is it normal to love someone so much that you also want to just shake them at the same time?
“Bed rest, Meems. I’d visit, but I’m not supposed to do much.”
“Then I suppose we should be coming out there to help you get ready for your baby.”
“No! No, I mean, you don’t need to do that. I have Nathan here helping me. And my best friend, Cami.”
“I’ll let your mother know, and we’ll come soon.” Click
The whole respect your elders thing can be a real crapshoot sometimes. The temptation is strong to dial her back up. Or my mother. I bring up her name on my list of recent contacts, but a resounding knock from my front door stops me short.
Busted?
It could be the mailman. Nath
an has proven again and again that he isn’t above using my spare key to get to me. I doubt he learned to knock patiently now.
The noise stops as abruptly as it began. I’m more than tempted to lie on my couch and pretend I’m not home. I also have a suspicion that whoever is on the other side of that door knows I’m here and isn’t going to just leave.
When the knocking starts again, my choice is decided for me.
“Coming!” I call out and hoist myself from the couch. The door hinges creak, and the person on the other side of the door is the last one I expect to see.
“Regina,” I greet and fail to mask the surprise in my tone. “Hi.”
Her pursed lips soften a tad as her gaze sweeps over my massive belly. “This doesn’t look like Nathan’s house to me. May I come in?”
“S-sure. Yeah.” I back up to give her access and shut the door behind her. Hoping to avoid being scolded by a member of Nathan’s family, I waddle back to my couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She does so by standing statuesque next to my front door with her designer purse clenched in her fingertips.
Oookay.
I plop back down and mute the TV in the process.
“What can I do for you?”
I feel her sigh as much as I hear it. The air of inconvenience fills my living space like a dense fog. “I know our last interaction wasn’t pleasant, but I’m here to apologize.”
I give her a bland stare. I haven’t wasted a second of my time on this apology, but if that’s what she’s here to do, I won’t stop her. My concern is he isn’t here to witness this interaction. If the conversation takes a sudden turn south, I wouldn’t put it past her to run to him with crocodile tears.
The silence stretches indefinitely. What do I do?
“Uh, I, is this it?”
“Yes.”
Blink. Blink. Blink.
“Are you even sorry?” I blurt, off-kilter by this strange conversation.
“Of course I am. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Okay, usually an apology contains the words ‘I’m sorry’ in one form or another.” A snarky bite inflects my tone. I hoist myself from the couch once again and snag my phone from the cushion.
