by Eva Luxe
“Oh, hey, there you are Ramsey,” he says. “I didn’t know you were here. Did you already call Mom?”
He looks a bit upset, and I realize he wants to talk to her together.
“No not yet,” I tell him. “I…”
He stares at me, waiting for me to finish my explanation.
“I came here to call her, but then I realized we should call her together, so I was actually heading back, to get you.”
“Awesome,” he says. “I was going to call Whitney while I waited to figure out where you’d disappeared to, and then I figured we could call Mom and Jensen and Riley together, once I’d found you.”
How nice of him. I feel bad for having to outright lie to him— it’s not something I usually do, although I’ve clearly omitted some information— and for not thinking of him when he had obviously been thinking of me.
Monica tells me not to worry about others so much, I think. But I feel bad when I don’t worry about my brothers. I guess I’ll start by not worrying about her, then.
I try not to smile at the thought, but it makes me feel better. All of a sudden, I have an urge to do something else that should make me feel better, too.
“You know what, Harlow?” I say. “I’ll give you your privacy while you talk to your fiancé. I’ll be back in a little while so we can call the family.”
“Okay,” he says, with a rather confused look on his face. Then he shrugs. “Thanks.”
I walk back to my tent and remove my laptop from my knapsack. Opening it up to my MP3s, I delete the songs from Monica’s and my soundtrack, quickly, before I can change my mind.
“What are you up to, Ramsey?” asks a member of my unit, squatting next to me. “Got any good movies on there?”
“No,” I tell him. “Just some music. And I have to go meet Harlow in the phone room.”
I shut the laptop and head back to Harlow, before anyone can ask any more nosy questions. On my way, I realize I’ll still need to delete the songs from my phone and tablet.
Oh well, at least it’s a start. A step in the right direction, of erasing our music like I want to erase the memory of us. Even though there is no us— and never was.
When I get back to the phone room, Harlow is still talking to Whitney.
“I’ve never known him to be homesick, but…” he’s saying, but he stops when he hears me come up behind him.
“Oh hey Ramsey,” he says, with a fake, cheerful smile. “Whitney wants to say hello to you.”
I shoot him an annoyed glance, not sure whether I want to confront him about what I overheard. I decide to just take the receiver he’s holding out to me.
“Hey Whitney,” I say. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she says. “Sure missing my fiancé, though.”
“I’m sure. But don’t worry, he’s safe out here, especially now that we’re mostly doing training.”
“I’m grateful for that,” she says. “And that he can call me more often now. It was quite difficult before.”
Her voice breaks a bit, and I genuinely feel sorry for her.
“And how are you doing?” She asks me.
“Oh, I’m great,” I say, turning to give Harlow a big, fake smile of my own. “Just peachy.”
“Well, okay,” she says, not sounding very convinced. “But I just wanted to tell you, that…”
She pauses.
“Yes?”
“If there’s something you need to do— or, someone you might need to talk to— just do it. Just go for it. Life is short, and you can never predict the future, you know?”
I don’t know how she always seems to know what’s going on with me.
“Thanks, Whitney,” I tell her. “But life’s pretty predictable for a guy like me. I get deployed, I come home and train, I get deployed again. That’s all there is to it. Plus my family, of course. Harlow, and you now, and Jensen and Riley, and Mom.”
“If you say so,” she says, and I can hear the teasing doubt in her voice. “Well, take care Ramsey. I look forward to seeing you again, after I see Harlow again of course, so I can drag him down the aisle as my captive for life.”
We laugh, and then Harlow says more “I love you”s and “I miss you”s to her before hanging up.
“Okay, so let’s call the others now,” Harlow says, obviously in a rush to talk about something different than what he and Whitney had been discussing earlier.
I shrug and say, “Sure.”
I’ve decided to let it go, for now. I know that Harlow and Whitney just care about me.
We call Jensen and Riley’s house, and our mom picks up.
“Boys? Is that you?” she asks.
“Hi Mom!” We both say at once.
“I was hoping that was you!” she says.
Harlow and I exchange surprised glances, and he places his hand over the receiver and whispers, “She sounds pretty good!”
“Hi guys!” We hear Jensen and Riley chime in from the background.
“You have perfect timing,” Jensen says. “We just got done eating.”
“How’s everything going?” I ask.
“Pretty good!” says Jensen. “Although all my wife ever seems to want to do is make wedding plans with your wife, Harlow.”
Riley laughs.
“There’s nothing wrong with living vicariously through my soon-to-be-sister-in-law!” she protests.
“Except that you already had your own wedding,” says Jensen. “I was there. It was beautiful.”
“All the more reason to want to re-live it,” Riley says.
“How has Mom been doing?” I ask.
“Really well!” Jensen says. “I think she likes having some female company around the house. And she has been following all the house rules.”
“Hey!” Mom protests. “I’m right here! I can hear you.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Jensen says, “but it’s hard to get privacy around here. Who’s fault is that?”
“Boys,” Mom says, with obvious pride in her voice. “I’ve been going to daily meetings for almost three months now. I get another chip in less than a week, and Jensen and Riley are coming with me.”
“That’s great!” I say, and Harlow and I exchange yet another shocked look.
I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, mixed with failure. I was always the one to take care of Mom, but she seems to be flourishing with Jensen and Riley better than when she was staying with me.
I guess I can’t always control everything, I think. And it’s good to relinquish the reins and let someone else try for a change. I know I should be happy that things are working out so well for them in my absence. And I am. It just feels… different.
“How’s the mission been going?” Jensen asks.
“It’s over,” Harlow says. “Mission accomplished. Now we’re just hanging out with the locals and trying to teach them to take over what we do.”
“That’s great,” says Jensen. “Glad everything went well. How’d my new boys do?”
“They’re all first-rate,” says Harlow. “Good job. Except for one. Umm….”
“Baker?” Jensen guesses.
Harlow and I look at each other and nod.
“Yeah, him. I can’t even remember his name, because everyone calls him Pipsqueak. I have no idea how he even got through training.”
“It certainly wasn’t my doing,” says Jensen. “I was against it. But he’s the grandson of a general. There were some political strings pulled, with connections that went way over my head.”
“That explains it,” says Harlow. “It’s downright dangerous, though, with him around. He’s slow, and…”
“Gangly,” agrees Jensen. “Clumsy. I hear you.”
“Maybe you can, like, work with him more when we get back,” I suggest. “I mean, he’s ours now, but maybe there’s some sort of equivalent to Special Ed in high school, where he can be pulled out and made to re-learn things…”
Harlow and Jensen laugh, and I do too. Usually I feel bad
for Pipsqueak— Baker— but Harlow’s right that he’s more of a weakness than a strength to the team, and no one has any idea what to do about it. Plus, I appreciate the comic relief.
“Well, we’d better go,” says Harlow. “There are others who need the phone. But it was great talking to you guys.”
“Great talking to you, too!” They all say.
Harlow gives them our address, and says we’ll call again as soon as we can.
As we walk back to the tents, I say, “I can’t believe how good Mom sounds.”
“I know,” he agrees. “It’s amazing.”
I guess all my worrying about Mom was unnecessary. Maybe I should listen to Monica more.
Never mind, I tell myself. I can’t listen to someone who doesn’t even talk to me about what’s going on in her own life.
It’s time to forget Monica, and move on. If only my heart could fall in line with that command from my head.
Chapter 32 – Monica
One Month Later
“Come on, Monica, we’re going to be late,” Susan says, grabbing my hand and practically pulling me on the boardwalk.
“Late?” I ask her. “For what?”
“I made a reservation,” she says, sounding frustrated.
“Okay. Sorry. It’s hard for me to walk fast in these sandals, with my big pregnant belly knocking me off balance. Also, I think my feet have swollen up a lot faster than my belly has! It doesn’t make for a good combination.”
Susan told me last week she wanted to take me to brunch at Hannah’s on the Dock, so that we could hang out together before the baby comes.
“I really want to thank you for all you’ve done for me,” she’d said. “I don’t know how I could ever make it through any of this without you. It’s been awhile since we’ve had ‘girl time,’ and I don’t want the weeks to rush by and both of us to get so caught up once the baby arrives that we have no time for ourselves.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” I’d told her, blushing and wanting to insist that she didn’t have to take me out to thank me for anything, even though it did sound fun. “But you’ve helped me so much too. This pregnancy has been a breeze thanks to you.”
Hannah’s is a casual place that never requires reservations, as far as I know. But as we step through the entrance and the waiter says, “Right this way, please,” with a knowing nod towards Susan, I begin to realize that something’s up.
As we follow him to a back room, I say, “Susan, this isn’t…?”
But my half-asked question is quickly answered with a chorus of “Surprise!” from a bunch of women lined up at a few different tables. The room is decorated in a beachy theme, with cut-outs of baby whales, sea lions and dolphins, as well as a baby boy wearing a cloth diaper, with the words “Beach Bum Baby” strewn above him in a banner.
“Oh wow!” I say, my hand covering my mouth in surprise. “Susan… you didn’t have to…”
I can’t stop looking around at all the cute decorations. There are bouquets made of cloth diapers— because I’d mentioned to Susan that that’s what I planned to use— and an elaborately decorated cake. It’s has blue and white layers that look like the ocean, and sits on a bed of crushed graham crackers that look like sand. Strewn around it is more graham cracker crunch, with cookies decorated as baby flip flops, and a pair of baby sunglasses.
“This is all so unique,” I tell her, practically wanting to cry.
“I know you said you didn’t want a baby shower, but there was no way I was going to let that slide,” Susan says. “And you were going crazy buying so much baby stuff, so I had to have it a little early, before you bought everything and there were no gifts left for anyone else to buy!”
I smile at her. I know that part of her consideration was likely the fact that they’d said my baby could be born premature.
Luckily, I’ve passed the “viability point” in my pregnancy, meaning that if my baby were to be born now, his odds of surviving, with medical intervention, would be greater than his odds of not surviving. And everything has been looking good, with the doctors saying that my cervical cerclage is holding up just fine.
Although pregnancy is always scary and I still worry, it looks like things are in the clear now, and it’s a perfect time for a baby shower, just in case the baby does come early. Susan always thinks of everything, and has a tactful way of saying things, too. I truly don’t know what I’d do without her.
I greet my guests and I’m surprised by how many people showed up. There are some female co-workers, some local friends, and even my high school friend Trish is here— she flew all the way from Minnesota to attend.
Although my mom couldn’t come, she sent a blown-up picture of herself holding a stuffed baby whale and a sign that says, “Can’t wait to meet your little squirt!” The stuffed animal itself is sitting on a table underneath the framed photo, with a blue and white bow on its head and a ribbon wrapped around it.
I can’t believe that Susan and the others went to all this trouble just for little old me.
I always thought baby showers were kind of lame. I didn’t want to sit in the middle of a circle and unwrap presents while everyone watched. But this shower is casual and relaxed, with everyone laughing, eating and chatting.
But I guess part of me thought that no one else would want to come. Or that I wasn’t deserving of a baby shower, because I wasn’t a very traditional mom. I don’t have a husband or partner, and this baby— although terribly wanted— wasn’t planned at all.
Susan doesn’t make anyone play any games, except for one. And I’m glad, because I usually think baby shower games are stupid. The game she plays is for everyone to make a lullaby, nursery rhyme or kids’ poem from a well-known song, except to change the lyrics to make it personal.
The example that Susan uses while giving the game instructions is a remake of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
“This is the song that Monica’s baby will sing to the doctor near his due date,” she explains. “And it’s called Take Me Out to the Real World.”
Take me out to the real world—
Get me out of this womb!
I’m ready to crawl, walk, then hunt and fish,
And I want to give Mommy Monica a kiss!
Let’s root root root for on-time delivery—
A little early’s fine too!
We’ve got 1, 2, 3 days to go,
‘Till I’m overdue!
Everyone laughs, and— to my surprise— participates in coming up with lyrics of their own, and then serenading me with them. It’s a cute game, and unique, with Trish bringing up old high school hi-jinx memories in her song, and some of the women who are already moms including advice about childrearing in theirs.
But of course the game makes me think of Ramsey, and how he re-wrote the lyrics of Heroes, just for me. I haven’t heard from him since that last awkward phone call.
I don’t understand why he would go to such trouble to come out and see me, call me from overseas, and then never talk to me at all. I hope he’s okay.
But I’m thinking the flame must have just burnt out on his end. We were never meant to be anyway.
“Time for presents!” Susan announces, and I snap out of my glum mood.
There’s no time for feeling sad about Ramsey, when I— and my baby— have a huge pile of presents to unwrap.
“Open mine first!” says Nicki, a friend of mine that I met through Susan.
They’re in the same book club, which I sometimes attend, although I don’t usually have time to read the books. I’ve been participating more often, though, since I’m on semi-bed rest with a lot more reading time.
“I’m sorry but I have to leave early,” Nicki adds. “Due to a prior commitment.”
“No problem,” I tell her, opening the gift bag and tissue paper she’s put in my lap.
It’s a lamp for the baby’s room— nautical-themed, of course.
“Wow, thank you,” I tell her, wondering how she had such unc
anny gift-giving skills. I’d been eyeing the same lamp at a store, but hadn’t purchased it yet. “I love it!”
After that, I unwrap so many cute little baby outfits, books and toys, as well as some well-needed items like a bouncer, nursing pillow, and baby wraps.
“I don’t know how everyone knew what I needed and wanted,” I exclaim.
“Well, you’ve only dragged me to every baby store in the city,” Susan laughs. “And I’ve helped you decorate the room. Not to mention, you have several online wish lists you’ve saved items to. So I made note of the things you said you wanted to get, and of everything my investigating was able to dig up, and I made a gift registry for you.”
“You should be a party planner,” I tell her, seriously impressed. “You are so organized and helpful.”
“You know what?” she says, a gleam in her eyes. “I really think that might be a good idea. I could probably work from home a lot, and once Mason is a little older and starts preschool, hopefully the business would pick up and I could be out and about more.”
“I could totally keep watching Mason whenever you need me to,” I tell her. “I mean, I’ll already be home watching this little guy!”
“What are you going to call him?” Trish asks.
“Yeah, any names in mind?” Other guests ask.
“I’m not sure yet,” I tell them.
It’s the most popular question I get asked, mainly because “who’s the father?” isn’t socially acceptable. But those closest to me have asked it, and I’ve seen it written on the face of everyone who finds out I’m pregnant.
Only Susan knows, and I think I’m going to keep it that way. It doesn’t look like Ramsey will be in the picture, so I don’t see the need to mention him.
After I open what I think is the last gift, I see Becky bounce through the door, carrying another one.
“We made a present for our cousin, Aunt Monica!” she says proudly.
Nicki is behind her, carrying Mason.
“Oh my goodness!” I say, kissing the top of her head. Her hair is curled and tied in a bow.
“I had Nicki go pick them up from daycare,” Susan explains. “Becky’s no good at keeping s-e-c-r-e-t-s, so I knew if I tried to bring them with us in advance, it would ruin the s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e!”
