Them (Him #3)

by Carey Heywood

  “Everything all right?” I ask.

  He shrugs off his coat and hangs it over the bannister post at the bottom of the stairs. “My mother had her turn signal on the entire drive.”

  “Good thing it was you behind her and not some other driver she could confuse.” I laugh.

  His only reply is to come and kiss my forehead before sitting down next to me.

  “Did you stop and make sure she got in okay, and thank her again for dinner?”

  He nods, untucking my legs from my side and pulling them across his lap.

  “Head’s up.” He gently turns my chin until I’m facing him. “I saw some Babies R Us bags in there. The stuff could be for Christine, but I’m guessing Mom’s already shopping for our baby and by the number of bags I saw, a lot.”

  “Don’t mention any of this to my mother,” I plead.

  He laughs. “Why?”

  I shrug. “You know my mom. If she finds out your mom is already baby shopping, she’ll start baby shopping to try and out-grandma your mom.”

  “Out-grandma?” He’s still laughing.

  “Don’t laugh at me. It’s a thing, and if you don’t believe me, call Brian and ask him what happened when Calvin was born.”

  He lifts his hand in surrender before dropping them back onto my legs. “I believe you.”

  Our heads turn toward the front door as Logan and Rascal barrel in, bringing a cool blast of air with them. Logan’s nose and ears are red as he unhooks Rascal’s leash and then pulls off his coat. Unlike Will, he actually hangs his coat up in the closet.

  “You should have worn a hat,” I remind him as he slumps into the loveseat.

  He nods. “It’s colder than I thought it would be.”

  “Want me to make a fire and we can watch a movie?” Will asks the both of us.

  Logan grins while I reply, “Sure, but there’s a good chance I’ll pass out halfway through, so you guys pick the movie.”

  Logan chooses a movie while Will gets the fire going. As I predicted, I was asleep long before it ended.

  Will

  “Is there anything she can take?”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve asked this question. We had hoped that once Sarah was past her first trimester, the morning sickness and exhaustion would go away. It hasn’t. In fact, her morning sickness is so severe it’s called hyperemesis gravidarum.

  Last month, she got so dehydrated at one point she had to spend the night in the hospital hooked up to an IV. If I didn’t believe in that kind of thing, I’d wonder if we were being punished for some unknown crime by fate. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times of our lives, but Sarah is miserable and I’m worried sick about her.

  Something is up with Logan, too, considering the way he watches Sarah when she makes it out of bed. It’s like he feels responsible, but that’s crazy. He’s just a kid; how could he think that?

  Sarah squeezes my hand. She worries about me.

  Dr. Stacey goes over everything we already know: consuming a bland diet, eating frequent small meals, drinking plenty of fluids when not feeling nauseated, avoiding spicy and fatty foods, eating high-protein snacks, and avoiding sensory stimuli that can act as triggers.

  This is all stuff we’re already doing. It still didn’t keep her from being hospitalized, though.

  “There has to be an anti-nausea medication we can try,” I urge, already knowing what he’ll say.

  “We’ve tried them all.”

  Sarah gives my hand another squeeze. “As long as the baby is healthy, I’ll be fine.”

  She’s the strong one at the moment. All I can do is sit by helplessly while she struggles. All I want to do is take care of her, to take away anything that causes her discomfort.

  “With some women, the symptoms lessen when they’re into their twentieth week.” Dr. Stacey’s expression is hopeful.

  “Fingers crossed,” Sarah continues to try and lighten my mood.

  Dr. Stacey uses this opportunity to change the subject. “Have we decided on whether or not you’d like to find out the sex of the baby during your ultrasound today?”

  Sarah answers for the both of us. “We want to be surprised.”

  Boy or girl, all either of us want is for him or her to be healthy. The whoosh-whoosh of hearing the heartbeat of our child is enough to improve my mood, slightly. That and the dreamy expression Sarah gets as she listens to it. I am humbled by the strength and grace she has shown as the daily battle with nausea rages on within her.

  “You are so beautiful,” I whisper against her temple before I press my lips to it.

  She blushes. “I look like crap.”

  “Shut it,” I mock growl. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

  She shakes her head at me but reaches for my hand, taking it in hers and lifting it to press a kiss to the back of it. I hate this, how powerless I am to do anything to take away her discomfort. Worse, by impregnating her in the first place, it’s all my fault.

  As we drive home, I ask, for most likely the hundredth time, if there is anything I can do. The answer is unsurprising, as it’s the same one she’s given me the ninety-nine other times.

  “You’re doing everything perfectly.”

  No matter how many times she tells me this, I still don’t believe her. The last thing I want to do is leave her, but I have to get back to school. Since she’s tired, I let Rascal out for her while she goes upstairs to lie down. Once I let the dog back in, I pop up to kiss her before I leave.

  She’s out, absolutely exhausted from only going to the doctor. It’s been so bad she’s taken leave from work. I brush her bangs from her eyes and kiss her forehead. She shivers in her sleep, and I lift the comforter to her chin then give one last, longing look before I leave.

  I make it back to school in time for lunch. Logan is waiting for me outside of my classroom, and he’s not alone.

  “Would it be all right if Amber ate with us today?”

  I’m speechless and manage a jerky nod before I unlock my door. They shuffle in behind me, and Amber follows Logan toward a table in the middle of the classroom. It’s further from my desk than where he normally sits, but I haven’t gotten the complete brush off that would have been if they sat in the back of the class.

  “The appointment go okay?” Logan asks as he drops his backpack onto the floor.

  He’s been as concerned about Sarah as I have.

  “More of the same. The doctor hopes the further she gets along that she’ll have less morning sickness.”

  “My mom had really bad morning sickness with my younger brother,” Amber adds, sliding into her chair.

  “Did it ever go away?” Logan turns to face her.

  She nods. “She hardly got sick toward the end of it.”

  Logan turns back to me, his face hopeful. “Maybe that will happen for Sarah, too.”

  I nod, my expression most likely mirroring his.

  It’s that hope I hold on to for the rest of lunch. I pretend-load grades into the system, but truly I’m reliving my friendship with Sarah through Logan and Amber.

  Instead of talking about MTV, they’re talking about YouTube. The subject matter might be different, but the sharing and learning of their mutual likes and dislikes is the same.

  The nostalgia carries me through the rest of my day. No matter what happens, no matter what obstacles await us, as long as I’m going home to my girl nothing else matters.

  Practice has started for the spring lacrosse season at the high school, and Logan acts as my assistant. I’m distracted though, so I spend the majority of practice having them run passing drills and then let them scrimmage for the last thirty minutes. As much as I’d rather be home taking care of Sarah right now, coaching is probably keeping me from smothering her.

  Once all the kids have left or have been picked up by their parents, I call her to see if she wants takeout for dinner. Since certain smells can set her off, it’s easier to grab food these days. As long as it’s something blan
d; dinner has been the meal she has had the most success in keeping down.

  I use the car ride as an opportunity to pump Logan for details about Amber.

  Glancing his way at a red light, I ask, “So, lunch?”

  He shrugs, turning his head so he’s looking out the side window. “A couple of girls were being mean to her in the lunch room, so . . .” He trails off.

  My back straightens. “She’s being bullied?”

  Years can go by, but for some reason there’s always a few kids who need to torment their classmates to feel better about themselves.

  Logan sighs. “There’s this girl who likes me and she doesn’t like it that Amber and I are friends.”

  “Do I know this girl?”

  There’s nothing worse than finding out a kid you thought was sweet and kind is actually a master actor or actress. I’d like to think I can pick out the trouble-makers. The stealth ones who fly under the radar, making their classmates miserable right under my nose, piss me off the most.

  “I don’t think she takes art. She does drama.”

  I nod; knowing she isn’t one of my kids helps somehow. “Do you want me to step in?”

  He shakes his head. “She doesn’t want to say anything and be a snitch.”

  That’s another thing I’ll never understand. It’s like middle school aged kids have it hardwired into their systems to try and solve their own problems. Heaven forbid any teenager or preteen reach out to an adult for help; we’re clearly all idiots in their eyes.

  “What kind of stuff is this girl doing?”

  I don’t care if he wants me to step in or not, if this girl is putting her hands on his friend I’m reporting it.

  “She talks about her clothes and the way she talks.”

  “The way she talks?” I ask as we pull into the parking lot of a local Chinese place.

  “Yeah, Amber’s family moved here from Minnesota a couple years ago, so she says Amber talks funny.”

  We park and I wait until we’re both out of the car to reply. “I don’t remember hearing an accent.”

  He rolls his eyes, “That’s the thing. It’s pretty much nonexistent, and she still gives her crap about it.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to report this?”

  He hesitates. “I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow. Can she eat lunch with me in your class again?”

  I nod, holding open the door of the restaurant for him. Since we didn’t call the order in ahead of time, we have to sit and wait for it. The restaurant is in a small strip mall, with a hardware store on one side and an antique store on the other. When Sarah and I come, if we have to wait, she likes to go and walk around the antique store. It’s a small space, with all sorts of treasures stacked up to the ceiling. She’s gotten a painting or two from there and a tea set she doesn’t use, just displays on a bookshelf in our living room.

  Since it’s only Logan and me, we wait inside the restaurant. It, like the antique shop, is small on the inside. One entire wall is mirrored, giving an illusion of another room. The opposite wall boasts a metallic black and gold stripe print with large blossoms.

  I use the extra time to try and pump Logan for more info about this girl who’s giving Amber a hard time. Experience has shown that many bullies are bullied themselves. I know neither Logan nor Amber want to be a snitch, but if I had her name it would make looking into her a whole heck of a lot easier.

  “So, this girl, is she in any of Amber’s classes?”

  He chews on one side of his lip, a nervous habit I can’t help but wonder if he picked up from me. “They have gym together.”

  I cringe; that’s a tough break for Amber. Out of all of the classes a kid could be stuck with a bully in, gym has to be the worst. There are so many opportunities where the teacher isn’t able to be watching. The gym itself is huge, plus the track and fields if the kids are outside, and I don’t even want to think about the locker rooms.

  “You swear it hasn’t gotten physical?” I press.

  He nods. “You know girls. They’re all mental warfare.”

  For being thirteen, he makes a decent point. A buzzing sound comes from the front pouch of his hoodie and he pulls out his phone.

  He looks up at me, lifting it at the same time. “It’s Amber. Is it cool if I go outside and call her?”

  “Sur—” I reply.

  He’s out of the booth and to the door before I can finish the word. I’m torn between laughing and Googling chastity belts for boys. Either way, it’s clear he’s got it bad for this girl, whether he can admit it or not.

  Watching the way he is with Amber takes me back to the very start of my friendship with Sarah. We reminisce about it from time to time, Sarah and me, talking about how unsure we both were back then about moving from friends to more. Part of me just curses the time we lost together, those years when we were both too afraid to make the first move and then when we didn’t trust our love enough to fight for it.

  Growing up seriously sucks sometimes. There we were with all of these emotions and desires that neither of us were mature enough to handle. I’ll always curse the time we lost, but being apart to grow up on our own could be the reason we’re as solid as we are today.

  “Order for Price.”

  I’m snapped out of my mind and back to reality. Time to go feed my woman. Since she has okay luck with bland food, I got her some sweet and sour chicken. She skips using the sauce and sticks to only the rice and chicken.

  Logan turns as I walk out the door with the food. He starts to say goodbye, but I motion for him to keep talking and he does. I have an ulterior motive of seeing if I can pick up any info through their conversation. Sure, eavesdropping isn’t cool, but he knows I’m listening so if he says anything he doesn’t want me to hear that’s on him, not me.

  Unfortunately, his side of the conversation consists of saying ‘yeah’ over and over. I can hear her through the phone but can’t make out any words. By the time we make it to the house, I’ve given myself a headache straining to make out what she was saying.

  Logan hangs up as I park.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “She got all happy when I told her you were cool with her eating in your class.”

  “Hopefully after a couple of days she’ll feel comfortable enough to talk to me.”

  “I told her you were cool, but since she doesn’t know you . . .” He hesitates.

  “She doesn’t want to tell me,” I finish for him.

  Sarah is sitting on the sofa with Rascal curled up into a ball next to her when we walk in. Rascal immediately springs from the couch to come greet and sniff us, giving the bag of Chinese food most of her attention.

  “Smells good.” Sarah grins, standing and walking over to take the bag from me.

  After Logan and I have shed our coats, we meet her in the kitchen.

  “How’re you feeling?” I ask, pressing a kiss to the side of her head and giving her shoulders a squeeze.

  “I don’t want to jinx anything,” she starts. “But today has been a good day.”

  “That’s great news,” I breathe.

  Good days have been few and far between.

  “I know.” She grins. “I might even risk sweet and sour sauce.”

  My eyes widen, wondering if that’s tempting fate and I’ll be holding her hair back as dinner makes a reappearance later on tonight.

  Sarah

  “I’m on my way to the hospital right now,” I reply.

  “Okay.” Will sounds breathless. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Snapping my phone shut, I focus on the road. I got the call fifteen minutes ago that Christine’s water broke. All I can think is how excited I am to meet my new niece and how terrified I am to get a preview of how my labor might go.

  Will and I were at the hospital when she had Calvin but not being pregnant at the time, I hadn’t even considered what labor would be like from my perspective. This time around, it was almost all I was thinking about. Over t
he last month, my morning sickness had for the most part gone away. There were still some smells I, for whatever reason, could not handle at all. One of them being coffee, another being seafood.

  Both have been easy fixes. Will picks up coffee on the way to school and since I’m not supposed to be drinking a ton of caffeine, I stopped drinking it altogether. Seafood has been an issue a couple of times going out to eat, and once when Mama Price surprised us with lobster ravioli. That was a bad night. I swear I could still smell it the next day, which made that day a not so great one, either.

  Now, being pregnant myself and rapidly approaching my own due date, I’ve become slightly terrified of the actual labor part. I’ve only been in a room with a woman in labor once and that was when Christine had Calvin. Christine is easily the most evenly tempered person I know. Seriously, it’s why she hasn’t killed Brian yet.

  During her labor with Calvin, I wondered a couple of times if she was possessed. Her head didn’t spin or anything, but it was the first time I had ever witnessed her raise her voice and if I remember correctly, she even threatened bodily harm against Brian. That was so out of character for her, it was clearly due to the pain.

  How would I handle it? I was only four months away from finding out. I’ve never been a fan of pain, and I’m pretty sure my tolerance to it is on the low side. I’ve pumped Christine for details about what labor was like for her, and she claims to not remember the pain. How can she not remember the pain? That doesn’t seem possible.

  My theory is there is some mom clause where you don’t freak out moms-to-be while they’re carrying their first kids. The only flaw in that theory is a woman having more than one kid. Either way, I’m freaked.

  I park near the front entrance and wonder if I should wait for Will or head inside. I’m being a baby about going in all by myself. Squaring my shoulders, I decide to grow up and not wait. This is the same hospital we will be having our baby and where Christine had Calvin two years ago.

  Other than new wallpaper, Labor and Delivery is in the same place it was then. By the time I make it to the nurses’ station, I can hear Brian from the hallway so I don’t need to ask what room they’re in.