by Kat T. Masen
Drew sits up, on auto-pilot, squinting from the light. “Zo, what’s wrong?”
“I think one of the babies kicked.”
“What? Let me feel.” Drew opens his eyes wide, immediately giving me his hand which I place on the exact spot where I felt it.
We wait minutes on end with no movement.
“I’m sorry, babe,” I tell him. “Maybe tomorrow?”
The sparkle in his eyes begins to fade, his posture falling from the disappointment of missing out.
Drew removes his hand, pulling the duvet cover back over him as I turn off the light. Laying there in the darkness, I roll over to my side and face Drew’s chest. Sleeping on my stomach is no longer an option—something I miss terribly. Sleeping on my back lasted only a short time, so my most comfortable position is my side. My eyelids begin to droop, heavy and overridden with exhaustion when suddenly, that bump wakes me up.
Instantly, I grab Drew’s hand and place it back on my stomach.
Bump.
“I feel it,” Drew exclaims, full of excitement. “The baby kicked!”
We both begin to laugh, wondering how in the middle of the night, our babies can bring us so much joy with the tiniest of kicks. This, for me, is the realization that I’m carrying babies inside me. Sure, the growing bump reminds me every day, but with that first kick my heart wants to explode with happiness.
And just like that, it all begins to sink in.
In a few short months, I’ll be a momma to two babies.
The pineapple dream was a sign, and only good can come from pineapples.
I’m dead sure of it.
Chapter Four
Drew
“According to my book, the babies are the size of corn cobs,” Zoey yells from the bathroom as the duvet floats in the air during my quick attempt to make the bed. “Do you think it’s weird that I’m craving corn, extra butter, and a splash of salt?”
Zoey enters the room in only her bra and panties, rubbing some anti-stretchmark cream on her skin with one hand while attempting to brush her teeth with the other. Her tits are enormous, barely contained in her lacy black bra. Impossible to ignore by a man who is barely getting laid. The shape of her body is evolving each day, transforming in ways I never imagined. Her belly button—once inverted—has popped out as her stomach becomes round and fuller.
Grabbing the pillows, I prop them up so they’re positioned correctly and to my standards. “When have you ever had just a splash of salt? I have no idea why you don’t test high in sodium with the amount of rubbish you’re putting in your body.”
“It’s the stupidest test, anyway,” she muffles with a mouthful of toothpaste.
Despite her glowing skin and need to walk around the house in only her undergarments, it doesn’t stop me from wanting my wife. If anything, I want her more. Pregnancy makes Zoey even more beautiful.
“Okay, creep, stop looking. I can offer you a hand job before my hands cramp up from the water retention.”
“So generous of you.” I glance sideways avoiding eye contact. “I’ll pass since I’m running late for work.”
Zoey’s jaw drops, her toothbrush slowly peeling away from the entrance to her mouth. “I thought you were starting at three?”
I hate lying to her. This is harder than I thought. “Uh no, midday.”
Raising her palm, she motions for me to stand still racing to the bathroom to spit out her toothpaste and gargle water before returning to the room. “Are you screwing someone else?”
I knew she’d get worked up over this. Normally, Zoey cares less about my hours since she’s busy at work. But since the pregnancy began, she goes hot and cold on my ass. One minute, she tells me I’m a moron for making the bed, and the next I’m the love of her life and she can’t imagine life without me.
And neither of those scenarios result in sex.
“Zoey, just because I don’t want a hand job doesn’t mean I’m screwing someone else.”
She eyes me dubiously. “Take your pants off.”
“Zo, c’mon. I’m running late.”
“You’re having an affair!” She paces back and forth almost on the verge of tears. “Who is it? That skank is back… Rebecca or whatever the hell her name is.”
“Raine, and no.”
“It’s that new nurse… Shelly something. I know she was eyeing you at the Christmas party. Grey’s Anatomy prepared me for all the sleeping around. The hospital is just one big orgy,” she cries, her normally pale skin breaking out into red splotches.
Walking over to her, I pull her into me, closing the distance between us. “Would you calm down, please, and look at me?”
Her eyes—wide and full of disappointment—stare back at me on the verge of tears. Despite this hormonal outburst and my desire to take her up on the hand job, I’m truly running late and wish I could tell her why.
“I love you, you goof. And under any other circumstance, I would take that hand job and more, but I promised to get in early.” Lifting her chin, I search her eyes and wait for her to acknowledge the truth. Behind the rage and the momentary lapse of judgment, her expression changes to almost apologetic. “But I will take a late break if you’re willing to stop by for a quickie?”
Zoey releases a sigh, shoulders slumping.
“You’re hot and sexy. You’re a doctor. You’re like women porn. All the books I read call you a book boyfriend. And I’m fat. I can’t see my ankles, plus Lord knows what’s growing in that bush I have. I might have an endangered species in there for all I know.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Are we okay?”
She smiles, her chin in my hand. “Yes. Hope she gives you the hand job of your life.”
A sarcastic comeback sits on the tip of my tongue yet riling her up would be extremely insensitive of me. This is insecure Zoey. So instead, I smile and kiss her lips before leaving the room and rushing out for my secret meeting.
***
The café is busy with the usual city lunch crowd. I chose this particular spot given its proximity to the hospital, not knowing how long this will go on.
Sundays around this part of town are family day. Everywhere I look, there are screaming babies and parents trying to eat their expensive salmon while wrestling a toddler and caving with an iPad or phone.
I can’t help but smile. Soon that will be us. A part of my life that I’m more than ready to start.
Glancing around the busy area I spot her immediately. Her almond-shaped eyes lighting up when she sees me while waving me over. Weaving my way through the crowd without too much trouble, I get to the table and quickly lean in giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad you made it,” Mia says, enthusiastically. “Did she ask many questions?”
“Oh yeah… got the drill.” I don’t want to mention anything about the infamous hand-job fight. “How have you been?”
“Yeah, same, I guess.” I can hear the insecurity in her voice and observe the way she shuffles the napkin between her fingers. It isn’t in me to get involved in anyone’s relationship.
“I haven’t spoken to Troy in a while. We were supposed to catch up for a run, but I got called into work that day.”
“He’s busy. Work, drinking, work, partying,” she notes with dark amusement.
Despite Zoey’s concern over their marriage, I saw Troy a while back coming home from a late shift. He was at a local pub, a place notorious for Saturday night drinks and foreign backpackers mainly in their early twenties. Since they’ve had their kid, their marriage had turned pear-shaped. Again, it isn’t my place to get involved. Zoey manages to do enough of that for the both of us.
“I’ve only got twenty minutes.” Mia takes a sip of her latte. “So, the baby shower. Now Lucille gave me a list of Zoey’s favorite foods which I want to stick to, but I want to run it by you first?”
Mia rattles off a list of food, some of Zoey’s favorites.
“Um, aren’t baby showers supposed to have those cutesy, tiny
sandwiches and cakes shaped like a stork?” I ask.
“Zoey hates birds. Don’t you remember the incident with the so-called doves at your wedding? And the cake isn’t shaped like stork.” She laughs.
How could I forget. One landed on her shoulder and she began to cry. She hates birds.
“Okay,” she continues, jotting it down quickly on some pink girly notepad. “So, you want it cute, but we still need to incorporate Zoey. After all, it’s her day. How about we do mini everything. Mini pizza, tacos, and we can have some healthier options and fresh salads for anyone like yourself.”
“Wait… do I have to be there?”
“No, silly. I mean hardcore health nuts like yourself. You need to drive her and tell her you’re taking her to Lucille’s for lunch, that’s it.”
“But she hates lunch with her mom,” I complain.
“I don’t know. Come up with something, anything. That’s all you need to do so stop panicking,” she scolds.
“I’m not panicking, but I think you underestimate the power of a woman like Zoey.”
Zoey’s relationship with her parents is unusual. She often avoids visiting them, but once there, she will spend hours in the kitchen gossiping, arguing, and eating Lucille’s home-cooked meals. As for her dad, Bob, I can’t fault the guy. He’s a battler and has war stories and scars to prove it. I know well enough to stop telling Zoey she is exactly like her mother. That gets me sleeping on the couch.
“I’m her best friend. I know she can be the biggest pain in the ass. Look, I’ll find something for you to distract her with. Now, let’s talk theme.”
“Isn’t baby the theme?”
“Yes, but do we like owls? Owls are so in right now. Argh… but it’s a bird, dammit,” she argues with herself. “You know, it would be easier if we find out the sex of the babies. Like for prepping.”
“Absolutely no.”
“All right, all right… so theme…”
I tune out when Mia starts listing off other potential themes, remembering the infamous scanning appointment which led to our first heated argument over the babies.
“So…” Susan smiled, looking at the both of us. “Do we want to know what we’re having?”
“Yes,” Zoey cheered, excitedly, the same time I shook my head with a big no. “Why don’t you want to find out? We could shop in theme and pick out names. It’s so much easier. Everyone finds out these days.”
“Well, we’re not everyone, and I said no.”
“Stop being stubborn. I want to find out, and I’m carrying these babies,” Zoey responded, heated.
Susan coughed, uncomfortably waiting as we both argued in front of her. I loved my wife, but this was something I wouldn’t budge on.
“Zoey no. I don’t want to know. Let’s be traditional for once and find out when you give birth.
“Fine. You won’t need to know, so Susan can tell me.”
“Are you serious?” I raised my voice, unaware I had done so. “You couldn’t keep a secret to save your life. Remember when you bought me that expensive watch and engraved it for my birthday? You dropped hints all week about how annoying it was not to wear a watch or tell the time. I knew you had bought me a watch.”
“How dare you,” she gritted. “You said you had no clue!”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been so loose with your purchase. The answer is no, Zoey, neither one of us is finding out.”
Zoey eventually calmed down and dared not to bring up the topic again, though she complained to everyone else calling me an ‘insensitive asshole.’
I don’t ask for many things in our marriage and am open to compromise, but this is no longer up for discussion. We will never get this moment back again—the first time we welcome our babies into the world as a surprise.
“And we can do a yellow theme which is neutral. I’ll speak to Lucille, and we’ll sort out all the food. Just make sure our girl is dressed up and get her there on time. Maybe text me just before, please?”
Mia thinks she has it all planned out, but she has the easier task.
Somehow, I have to get Zoey to dress fancy and convince her to go to Lucille’s.
This could be the challenge of a lifetime.
Chapter Five
Zoey
“Can you explain again why we have to spend the day with my family?”
The bristles of the brush glide through my hair removing the unwanted knots. With the shorter style, I manage to keep it healthy, and according to my book, pregnancy does wonders for your hair. It gives it this ‘sheen’ that no salon treatment can beat.
Drew is buttoning his light blue dress shirt, one of my favorite pieces of clothing on him. Checking himself in the mirror, he glances side to side to inspect each angle then grabs some aftershave, spraying it lightly against his neck. For a visit to my parents’ house he appears to be overly dressed. Then again, so do I.
My wardrobe these days consists of maternity jeans and baby-doll blouses. Gone are the days of trying to squeeze into my regular clothes and shoes. Stubborn me learned that the hard way when I was adamant I could, only to get my arm stuck in my recently purchased Cher tee which ripped the seam under the armpit. If only I could turn back time.
“And I just think this dress is too much.” I play with the loose white fabric in my hands, the dress flowing down to my ankles and covering my bejeweled sandals. “Have you seen Dad’s old sweats with the hole near the crotch which, God forbid, makes me want to dry heave each time he wears them?”
Drew has repeated the same story telling me to drop by to say hello, and then he takes me out to lunch close by at some fancy restaurant. I know of the restaurant, know the price tag and the posh people who hang out there, hence, why I agree to frock up.
“You ready?” he asks, kissing the side of my neck, grinning. “You look gorgeous.”
“Hold on.” I grab my wedding ring set and slide it on my finger only for it to slide as far as my knuckle. Frustrated, I push it further to no avail. “My rings won’t go on.”
Drew places my hand on his, gently pushing it with the same result. “Babe, the swelling is natural.”
I don’t believe him, taking them out of his hands in a frenzied panic. My normally pale skin turns a flushing red as the metal rubs against my skin uncomfortably.
Drew places his hand on top of mine, willing me to stop. “You’re going to get it stuck.”
I hadn’t removed my wedding rings since the day we got married except for last night. On a whim, I decided to paint the pots on our patio to match the outdoor pillows. Not wanting to paint over them, I removed my rings and forgot them until now.
While Drew thinks this is no big deal, the reality has hit hard for me. Another piece of my existence that’s no longer me. I love my rings. They represent my commitment to my husband, and without them I feel lost.
I don’t say another word aside from reminding Drew we will be late.
On the drive over, we both sit in silence as the tunes of some regular pop song come on the radio. It doesn’t take long before my bladder decides we need a restroom stop. It’s only supposed to be a forty-five-minute drive, but two pit stops later we pushed it to an hour.
My parents’ cottage appears just in front of us as Drew pulls into the street. This isn’t my childhood home. Mom and Dad sold our bigger two-story home when us kids moved out, and they moved into something smaller. I loved it. It had this charm to it and was surrounded by so much greenery. Mom has a green thumb and spends hours making her garden perfect. Tulips are her favorite, and over the years I’ve grown an appreciation for the beauty of flowers.
We continue to sit in the car, neither one of us saying a word until I break the silence. “So, I guess I’m on the market. No ring and all.”
Drew shakes his head, disagreeing. “Studies show wedding rings attract the opposite sex and are more likely to cause flirtatious scenarios because of the whole ‘unattainable’ status.”
Letting out an annoyed huff and rolling
my eyes at Drew’s geeky-educated mind, I’m quick to squash that stupid study.
“Well, then, you’ll be getting laid by all the hoes, and I guess I’ll wind up a lonely old widow trying to feed my family by collecting money on the street corner.”
Drew laughs. “Widow means your husband has died.”
“Yes, you would be dead after screwing around with all the hoes,” I state matter-of-factly.
Drew intertwines his fingers with mine, resting our hands on my lap. He knows my anxiety always heightens around my family. I’m not sure why I love them. It’s just that Mom is overbearing and has an opinion on everything in my life, and Dad is just well, Dad. My brothers are no better, a bunch of hoons in my eyes, but thank God they have all moved away, so none of them will be here today.
Drew removes his hands from mine, turning the engine off before hopping out of the car and opening the door for me. A summer’s breeze blows past me, a refreshing change from the stifling heat that graced us the past few days causing my swelling to match the stature of a hippopotamus.
Getting out of the car becomes a mission these days. With Drew’s assistance I grab his arm and pull myself up, almost out of breath, and slowly waddle toward the front door.
I rest my hands on my stomach as Drew leans over and presses the doorbell, the sounds echoing through the house.
Mom finally answers. “Zoey!” She hugs me a bit too tight and shuffles me in, linking her arm in mine until we walk down the hall, and then all I hear is “Surprise!”
Mia is standing in front of a small crowd, faces I recognize but all a blur as I try to take it all in.
The room is decorated in yellow and white balloons, some floating and resting against the ceiling. There’s a big sign in the middle that says Zoey’s Baby Shower backed by a green wall. I absolutely love green walls. They are the latest trend, and many of my clients insist on hanging them in their newly built homes.
Toward the left of the room is a table topped with so many presents decorated in fancy wrapping paper and exquisite bows. I spot a double carriage with a huge bow on top. Still in absolute shock, my eyes wander to the food table. In the middle sits the most lavish cake—three tiers with two babies on top.
