by B. L. Berry
Reluctantly he pulls back and smiles. We both know that had that kiss gone on any longer, we’d both be rendered starving and un-caffinated until the sun goes down. But damn, do I love that look. Nothing in this world matters, but when he gives me that knowing look, I know that I matter to him.
Simon looks back at me as he slides into his boxers. The absence of him leaves me chilled, so I rock onto my side and pull the soft blanket up over my body. He stands in the doorway and pauses, looking at me thoughtfully.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I’m so thankful that you came into my life, Simon.” And truer words have never passed my lips.
“Right back at ya, babe.” Simon winks at me again then turns toward the bathroom.
While he’s gone, I quietly slide open the drawer on my nightstand and pull out the love letter I wrote him last week while he was out of town. I am more certain than ever for the words I’ve sprawled out on the page. I pull a T-shirt on over my head and locate my panties from the night before. Then swiftly, I pad over to his jacket, seal the folded paper an invisible kiss, then slide it into his pocket before sneaking back into bed without ever making a sound.
Silence fills my apartment and I begin to think he slipped out without me knowing.
As I curl back in bed, my mind wanders to thoughts of Simon and his striking blue eyes. How even though we’ll age together through time, his eyes will always be the bluest of blues and my constant. I can hardly remember what life was like before he came into the picture just a few short months ago.
The slamming of a cabinet door from my bathroom breaks my trail of thoughts. “Simon? Sweetie, are you still here?”
His footsteps thunder through the apartment and I think I hear him sputtering obscenities. “What the fuck is this?” Simon’s rage overwhelms me up as he storms back into the bedroom. When I wipe the morning crud from my eyes, I look up to see Simon towering over me holding up the used pregnancy test Olivia threw in the trashcan the other day.
Shit.
“Elyse!” He snaps inching closer to my face. “I said what … the fuck … is this?” There’s an unfamiliar bite in his voice that causes my insides to recoil.
I push myself up to see him more clearly. “It’s… It’s a pregnancy test,” I say with a lilt in my voice, trying to neutralize his reaction.
“I can see that! Do you want to tell me why you’re hiding a pregnancy test?” A vein in his forehead protrudes up from his skin and starts to noticeably pulsate, like a bomb counting down to detonation.
We’ve never discussed the whole kid thing at length, so I was never sure where he stood on the subject or where we stood on it as a couple. But judging from his reaction, he has no desire to have any little Simons or Elyses running around in the near future.
No doubt the loss of his wife and unborn child are playing a factor in his reaction.
Based on this visceral preliminary reaction, I should probably lie and tell him it’s Olivia’s. But if we want this relationship to work, which I absolutely do, we need to be completely honest when we’re together. Transparency is key. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand in front of him to be his equal. We’re mature adults, neither of us should be talking down to the other.
“I wasn’t hiding it. I’m a few days late and wanted to make sure I wasn’t pregnant.”
He scoffs at my response. Clearly trying to keep casual about the whole thing wasn’t in my best interest. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, questioning my motives. I reach out and rub his arm. I hate that he flinches.
“It’s no big deal, Simon. The test was negative. Everything’s fine.”
“And why didn’t you tell me?” he bellows out.
Geez, calm the fuck down. “Because there was no reason to. You’re under enough stress as it is and in case you didn’t notice, it’s negative.”
He takes a step back, closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He says nothing, but rather shakes his head.
“What?” I ask, struggling to understand his reaction. What I really want to say is why the fuck are you freaking out about this?
Simon remains silent for a few moments before his expression turns accusatory. I hardly recognize the man looking at me. These are not the same eyes that looked at me with such love and affection less than ten minutes ago.
“I don’t know. This just doesn’t add up. I thought I knew you. And the woman that I adore wouldn’t be trying to get pregnant.”
What the hell? The edge in his voice is almost as terrifying as the rage cloaking his eyes. “You think I’m deliberately trying to get pregnant?” The look on his face says it all. He actually believes that I would consciously try to get knocked up. I turn to walk away from him and end this completely ridiculous discussion but he grabs my wrist a little too hard and pulls me back into the conversation.
“What? It’s sure as shit a good way to keep me around, don’t you think?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where the fuck is this coming from?” I pull my arm from his grasp and put some space between us, trying to eliminate the sting of his words.
“Where is this coming from? Where is this coming from?” He throws the pregnancy test across my bedroom and I watch it hit the wall beyond the bed and tumble to the floor. It is far too early in the morning for this kind of shit. “It’s coming from the fact that you’ve been lying to me, Elyse!”
“I am not lying to you!” My voice surprises me and I’m practically screaming at him now. The calm approach sure as hell didn’t work. Maybe I need to fight fire with fire. “Look. I don’t know why this subject has crawled up your ass and caused you to freak the fuck out. But you need to know the last thing I want right now is a baby. I’m young and have too much going for me. Sure, one day I want a family. Maybe even with you. But right now I am happy with the way things are, or up until a few minutes ago I was.”
Simon grinds his teeth and opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he has the chance to get anything out.
“Taking the test was a precaution. I would rather know than not know. I don’t care if you believe me or not, that’s the goddamned truth.”
Rage swallows us both whole and Simon curls his hand into a fist, slamming it into my bedroom wall.
“You know. If you’re going to blow a gasket over nothing you may as well pack up your stuff and—”
“God damn it, Sharna! Would you just shut up for one fucking minute? I can’t even hear myself think!”
I turn to him so fast I’m certain I’ve given myself whiplash and I see the panicked look in his eye. He freezes in terror, standing there looking at me with his mouth slightly agape, holding his right hand in his left.
My heart slams down into the pit of my stomach and I release a shaky breath. The only sound in the room is that of my soul snapping into thousands of tiny pieces. There’s one thing left to say …
“Who’s Sharna?”
Part Two
Sharna
Six months earlier
April
Sixteen
Expecting
“Come on, babe! We gotta go!”
“I’ll be there in a minute!” Simon’s enthusiasm surprises me. Admittedly, it’s a bit refreshing after how disconnected we’ve been.
I rummage through my side of the closet looking for something to make me feel like anything other than the bloated hippopotamus that I am. I settle for a tunic that hangs loosely around my waist. It’s not the most attractive thing I own, but I always feel more confident in my signature color of emerald. I love how striking it looks against my pale skin, flowing chestnut hair and hazel eyes. I quickly slip into my ballet flats and run down the stairs, not caring that I look short and frumpy.
“Whoa … slow down, Sharna. You need to take it easy.” Simon spins me around and hugs me from behind. I rest my head against his chest, loving how much taller he is than me. My insides instantly warm when I feel his hand splay flat against my belly. My tiny figure won�
�t be tiny for much longer. “You look incredible.”
“I look like a cow,” I say, discarding the first compliment he’s given me since … since I can’t even remember.
“Stop that. You can’t even tell you’re pregnant.”
My shoulders sink as I let out a heavy sigh.
That will all change soon enough. And when I’m big and fat he definitely won’t want to touch me.
“Okay then. I may not look like a cow, but I feel like one.” I know he can’t argue with me on that. The only thing I’ve been able to keep down are asiago cheese bagels. And for a girl who hasn’t touched carbs for the better part of two years, my sudden influx of bread has gone straight to my ass, gut and thighs, and I’ve got the skyrocketing number on the scale to prove it. I shouldn’t be showing this early in the pregnancy, but already I hate myself for gaining close to fifteen pounds. Because of the morning sickness, which should really be called all-day sickness, I haven’t been to kickboxing in weeks. At this rate I will be setting a record for the biggest baby ever birthed.
“Sharna …” he looks at me with unfamiliar devotion and promise in his eye. “Stop that. You are absolutely glowing. But if we don’t leave now we’re going to be late.”
I smile as he holds my coat open for me, then hands me my favorite Marc Jacobs handbag, just like he used to do when we first started dating. It’s an unusually chilly spring day and there’s a dusting of snow on the ground. He pauses and delivers a smile that reaches his eyes. I know children were never in our master plan, but maybe this baby is just what we need to get us out of this horrible rut? Sometimes fates interrupt the best laid plans and we have no other choice but to roll with the punches.
“Okay. Let’s go.” I kiss his cheek and follow him out to the car, the wind biting my cheeks.
It’s good to have my husband back where he belongs.
The light above us flickers and hums softly as we wait. I’m eyeing the generic art featured on the wall when Simon stands up and begins to tinker with the plastic model of the female reproductive system on the counter.
“I just don’t get it,” he comments, piecing together the puzzle of organs and flesh and arteries.
“Get what?” I kick my restless legs back and forth.
“How something that big is going to come through something so small.”
I laugh softly. “Good thing that’s not your problem to worry about.”
“I know … but I just don’t want you to be wrecked.”
“Wrecked?”
He stops fidgeting with the display and walks to the edge of the table, standing right in between the stirrups and wraps his arms around my wait. “Yeah. I mean, I should be the only one who gets to cause damage to you down there.”
His lips hitch into the same crooked smile that won me over years ago when we first met and I swat him playfully with the back of my hand. This kind of interaction feels good between us.
“You are so bad!”
Simon laughs and casts a wink just as my OBGYN opens the door.
Dr. Sheridan is a slight thing with a wicked sense of humor. If she didn’t spend her time inspecting and subsequently feeling up my lady business, I think she’d be the kind of chick I’d like to go get drinks with. You know, if it were socially acceptable for pregnant women to drink.
Simon sits down in the plastic chair next to the examination table and listens to me prattle on about how I’m doing with the doctor.
Yes, I’m feeling fine. Just fat and tired all the time.
Yes, I’m taking my prenatal vitamins.
No, there hasn’t been any unusual cramping or bleeding.
No, I’m not drinking alcohol or taking any drugs.
And on and on.
After several minutes of taking my recent health history, Simon interrupts, curiosity clearly getting the best of him. “Does it happen often?”
“Does what happen often?”
“Getting pregnant while you’re on birth control?”
Dr. Sheridan stops what she’s doing and shifts her attention to Simon. “It’s not all too common, but it is known to happen more than you think. Technically, there is no form of birth control that is completely effective all of the time, and the specific kind that Sharna takes has a fail rate of three percent.”
Simon scratches his head nervously. Game plans change and we both need to learn to roll with the punches of this unexpected surprise.
“The only way to guarantee you don’t get pregnant is to simply not have sex. And I’d venture to say that’s not an option for most married couples,” Dr. Sheridan says with a soft laugh in her voice. I watch as she pulls the internal sonogram machine to the edge of the table and gestures for me to ease down into the stirrups.
“I suppose you’re right.” Simon turns and winks at me as I scoot toward the edge of the table.
“I always love it when husbands come to these visits,” she casually comments as she preps the sonogram wand, which ironically looks like Bob Barker’s microphone from his days on The Price is Right. “So tell me, how did you two meet?”
I look across the small room to Simon, who winks and gives me a knowing smile.
“We met in a bar shortly after I graduated from college. I was out celebrating one of my girlfriends’ birthdays and we started talking. The rest is history …” I trail off, admiring my husband as he rises to stand next to me.
“Actually, she’s leaving out the best part,” Simon quips.
“Oh? And what was the best part?” Dr. Sheridan asks with a light in her eye. I softly laugh and lay back on the table.
“He’s referring to the most ridiculous pickup line I’ve ever heard.” I roll my eyes back into my head. It’s hilarious how proud he is of that stupid one-liner.
“It’s not so bad, babe.” Simon grabs my hand and winks playfully at me. To say I’m relieved that my Simon has returned would be an understatement. The past few months have been such a rough patch. The distance, and not just the physical distance for work, has been straining. Emotionally, he’s been unavailable. Making love is just going through the motions, and for a while it felt so empty and just a means to an end like we did it merely to fulfill an obligation. But ever since this baby … our baby… everything has changed. And for the better.
“Yes, it was that bad.” I look back to Dr. Sheridan and try to ignore the fact she’s busy lubricating the sonogram wand. “So we’re out at a bar and this gorgeous man struts up to me, holds out his hand and says, ‘Would you mind holding this while I go for a walk?” I beam at the memory. At the time I had been equal part flattered and in disbelief that someone had actually used a terrible pickup line on me. And what’s even worse was I actually liked it.
Dr. Sheridan stops what she’s doing and looks at me. “And that actually worked?”
“Look at her now. I’d say it did.” Simon chimes in, laughing softly under his breath.
“Well, I think it’s sweet. And even after all these years you still remember his exact words.” She smiles and I don’t dare tell her of all the times I wish I could have erased those words and Simon from my memory. On the surface we appear flawless, but nobody ever knew of his infidelity when we were engaged and how it led to my tailspin of paranoia. It really is true, the only people who actually understand what is going on in a relationship, are the two people involved. And they only know as much as the other person tells them. I swallow hard, desperate to push the negative thoughts from my mind. This is our fresh start, and it feels like both of us are finally trying to do right by each other. I need to focus on the good things between us and let the past stay in the past. And for the first time in a long time, I find comfort knowing we’re in this together.
“Sharna?” Dr. Sheridan says, snapping me from my thoughts. “Are you ready to meet your little one?”
I take a calming breath and nod, then look to Simon and we share an expectant look, one of excitement and nervousness. He scoots his chair closer to the side of the table and laces h
is fingers in between mine tightly.
After a moment of discomfort, Dr. Sheridan is quiet as she searches for any sign of life. Moments pass like hours and she says nothing. I watch the monitor and all I see is insignificant patterns of black and white.
My heart is racing and I can’t stand the silence. “Is something the matter?”
Silence.
Simon rubs the back of my hand with his thumb and swallows hard. He seems confident, calm. And here I lie, fearful for the unknown.
Dr. Sheridan makes a few notes on the monitor and probes the sonogram a little further. I wince in pain. “Right … there …” she says lightly touching the screen, instantly looking more relaxed. “It looks like you’re measuring roughly seven weeks and four days. And based on the start date of your last period, you’re right on schedule for a due date of November eleventh. Would you like me to print the sonogram photos for you?”
“Yes, please,” I say, still staring at the screen in wonder. I feel Simon squeeze my hand and turn to look at him. His eyes beginning to turn glassy and I witness an unseen side of the man I married.
Is he crying?
I can’t keep my eyes off of my husband as he watches the tiny flicker on the monitor. There is an awestruck glint in his ocean blue eyes and it completely melts my heart. He turns to me, presses his forehead against mine, and kisses me delicately.
This is the man I fell in love with.
This is the man I married.
This is how our life is supposed to be.
My Simon has come home.
Seventeen
Illusions of Happiness
In our kitchen there is a table made from reclaimed wood. Simon picked the piece himself from a dilapidated barn just outside of the northwest side of the city.
And on that table sits a crystal vase. It was Nana St. John’s, a wedding gift and family heirloom passed down from bride to bride.
