by Sunniva Dee
If the preeclampsia doesn’t go haywire, our baby will be born in four weeks. It’s a long wait with my body not being mine anymore. I’m heavy, filled to the brim with water in every joint, and because of my blood pressure, I’m taking pills to keep from retaining more. I can’t even imagine what I’d feel like without the pills.
I inhale deeply, preparing myself for the meditation session again. Of course, my mind strays to breathing techniques for people giving birth. I’ve learned them, even practiced them. For the life of me, I don’t get how they make a difference when a girl is supposed to push out something this huge.
Breathe.
I look up to catch my reflection in the mirror. It wobbles with each rattle of Leon’s “music” against the walls. At the center, my eyes stare back at me. Heck darn—I’ve got to take control of myself. What was the mantra again, the one Kat told me to meditate on? A single word, when there are so many galloping through my head.
Ooooooohm.
My belly. Is anyone supposed to balloon this much? It’s normal, they say, but—God Almighty, I have four freaking weeks to go! This is when my baby starts putting on weight in earnest, supposedly. Wouldn’t surprise me if I split down the middle.
Four. Weeks. I let the time frame wash in over me. I can push away the thought of the delivery—I’ll freak out soon enough. But what has to happen much sooner, like tomorrow, is something I can’t keep avoiding: baby shopping.
So far it’s been minimal. I just can’t own up to where I’ll be living once he’s born. I haven’t bought the stroller, the changing table, heck, even the car seat. It goes against my intense nesting instinct to postpone this, which might be the reason why I obsess more than ever over Smother’s special days’ celebrations.
Tomorrow.
I’m so torn.
No. For the little one, I know what my choice has to be.
She tells me she needs to buy baby stuff. I was wondering about that, how long couples postpone buying cribs and shit.
She pushes a forkful of lettuce, no dressing, into her mouth. Even for breakfast, it’s the preferred meal nowadays. At least she combines it with bread. My girl sighs. There’s a glimmer in her eyes that worries me. She’s about to say something I won’t like.
“Sweetie…”
“Baby, think twice,” I snap out.
Arriane swallows, surprised. A hand goes to the top of her stomach, which is almost reaching her breasts now. “Leon, I—”
“Are you firing me?” I stare at her, daring her to continue.
She lets out a small sob before her hands shoot up to her face, covering it. I’m right. The plan is to pink-slip me. Let me go, if not as the father of our baby, at least as her man. There must be a gash inside my chest because I’m so sore the pain extends from the center in under both arms.
“Leon, I have to be smart.” Arria’s pitch is so high. Her voice quivers through the tears. She’s crying. I can’t take that she’s crying.
I sink down from the chair and to my knees next to her. “What brought this on?” I ask her. “Haven’t I been good to you?”
“Yes!” she chokes out. “But I need to decide where the baby stuff goes. It’s got to go to my apartment.” I stroke her hair, the tear in my chest deepening.
“No, it doesn’t. What, are you moving out now, sending Kat back to me?”
Arria sniffs and looks up. “No, not yet, I… was going to stay here for the last month. Or maybe that’ll be too hard…” She trails off, unsure.
“You’re confused,” I break in.
“No, this is not confusion. I love you, and I’m grateful for how you are with me—I wish we could keep what we have.”
“Then don’t destroy it.”
She sinks in against me even though she tells me that she wants to leave. I’m relieved that she’s not beyond craving my embrace. “I want nothing more than to be with the two of you,” I whisper, arms around her lush body.
“Me too! But—” Her tears wet my neck as she burrows into me. She’s devastated, and I can’t fathom why. From what I understand, I’m getting an “A” so far. Why does she want to leave me in the dust?
“It’s the Bag Room, huh?” I say.
My Arria pulls in a deep breath through her nose, trying to compose herself. For a moment, she draws back to look at me. Those gorgeous, violet eyes sparkle with grief at her own decision. “Yeah. If it were just for exercise, I’d be excited about the Bag Room, you letting out a bit of pent-up energy… But you need the Bag Room to remain sane, Leon. What you really need is professional help. Have you ever considered that?”
Now isn’t the moment to puff out the derisive snort that’s building. I have to keep her from taking off on me. Sure, I’m suffering through the visits at my dad’s, even during the weeks the hospital releases him to be at his own house, but not because it helps me. I do it for her. So I summon strength, knowing she won’t see what a load of crap I think this is.
“Listen to me, baby.” I cup her face and tilt it down to me. Kiss her once before I stand and pull her up into me, comforting her. “Everything will be all right: I’ll schedule an appointment with a psychologist, okay? I’ll crush this beast. I won’t allow it to interfere with us. In the meantime, let’s buy baby stuff and keep it here at the apartment—”
“No, Leon, I can’t.”
“Can Kat and Ingela cram everything you need into their apartment?”
“No, but I can maybe leave some with the landlord.” She’s mulled this over, how not ideal the storing of crap is instead of having it set up. That’s good.
“Here’s my suggestion. We have an extra room here. Let’s turn the guestroom into a nursery.”
“Oh, sweetie, please don’t—”
I’m breaking her heart. She doesn’t need to say it out loud.
“Arria, get this: he’s my baby too. He’s going to have a room at this house, even if you never wanted to see me again.” My voice grows through the statement. It’s so true. This little boy? He’ll get it all.
“I don’t want to think about you leaving me. We’ll take one step at a time, okay? Hell, I’ll be fine with buying double sets of everything if you need a safety net. We send one set to your landlord if you get a deal with him, and one to the baby’s new digs here.”
I’ve surprised her. The air in the room loses the heavy onset of sadness. She sniffles and looks up to meet my gaze. Is that a small smile pulsating on her lips? I lean in and taste them. She lets me. “Did I make you happy?”
The small smile expands. “Yeah… This doesn’t mean—”
“Sshhh,” I soothe her. “Don’t. Let’s just enjoy the last month. Get things set up for him, okay? Do it together like it’s supposed to go down.”
She swallows heavily. On impulse, I ask, “Do you love me?” Because right about now, I need the confirmation. I need to know I’m not a good-for-nothing jackass.
“Yeah. I love you. So much,” she whispers.
What I say next, I mean. I’m starting to understand. I’ve done everything in my power to make her trust me. If she’s not committing to more than a few months at a time with me—
“Then, Arriane, I think you have your own demons to fight.”
Shopping with Leon is something else. I know what to expect this time, after the last trip for maternity clothes. My bladder isn’t what it used to be thanks to my little one, and I’m on my way back from another tinkle break.
With the eye of a pro, my babe of a man is busy scrutinizing strollers. He tests wheels, making sure they won’t crack even if we end up loading the thing with baby elephants instead of humans.
He pauses to think, utterly immobile in his all-black attire. Sometimes that stillness makes him seem feline. Now, he leans in over the Rolls Royce of strollers, considering. Light, light blues lift to mine as soon as I am close enough for him to notice me.
“This one has a reversible seat that can be lowered into a full-on bed. The handle bar is reversible as well. Probably
the only option for us here.”
I draw in a breath, snapping out of my little trance. “Sweetie, it’s nine hundred freaking bucks.”
“Sshh. You like it? Black is nice, but you can choose other colors. Hot pink…” Every expression he allows is measured, but his Adam’s apple bobs with disgust. I can’t help smiling. Leon is being cute, and it’s too much.
“Of course the stroller is gorgeous, but we can do with less. The baby won’t be spending a lot of time in it, you know,” I say, kissing his cheek.
“Arriane, this is the only one with an aero-sleep mattress.” Leon turns fully and stares into my eyes, expecting realization to dawn. It doesn’t.
“Okay….” My lack of expertise in the mattress department would shine through anyway, so I fess up. “Are they particularly killer?”
Leon’s expression glazes over again. He’s back to smooth, cool marble. “Well, the baby will really appreciate it while he’s napping. Black okay? Or… hot pink.” A tiny grimace flows over his features, and it’s just hilarious. Apparently, Leon is allergic to hot pink.
“Cool, hot pink is fine,” I say. Since he doesn’t answer right away, I slink my arms around his waist—because unlike me, he sure as hell has a waist—and press my cheek to his chest. “Just kidding. Black’s fine, sweetie, but unless you’re paying, there’s no way.”
He snorts as he folds me in. “I told you the shopping is on me. For the little guy, we’re getting only the best.”
The little guy. Aww.
The sweeter Leon is, the more I struggle. See, I didn’t fall in love with him because of the mystique surrounding him or his damaged innards. Within weeks of working at Smother, I found innate kindness beneath his stunning façade. I saw deep empathy and loyalty in the way he treated his employees. Anyone who depends on him. As he reveals more of himself, allowing his sweet, caring side to show, I plunge deeper; who knew love hurt? Sure they make songs about this, but… for real?
We leave the baby store with so much stuff my head spins. I try to help, loading my arms full, but I’m left to carry a single bag of baby clothes once Leon’s done relieving me of my baggage. He points for the employee to shove the also-Rolls-Royce variety changing table onto the back of the truck, and an enormous, beautiful crib which will rock, in all senses of the word, once it’s put together.
He’s also gifting me with a mommy rocking chair for when I nurse the baby. I wouldn’t have thought of it, but our store attendant is the owner, and she quickly caught on to how Leon didn’t question price tags or the actual need for items she recommended.
“Sweetie,” I groan when we’re back in the car again. “Are you sure? Do you realize you could have bought a small car for the price of all this?”
His eyes flash, roam to the pregnancy attachment and how I’m perfectly buckled in. “Baby car seat,” he reminds us.
My back hurts. “Do we have to go in again? Or hey, we could take things slow, one thing at a time.” I roll my eyes at the unlikelihood of that. We waited a while to get ready for the baby, but now Leon shoots out of the starting gate; he’s filled up the entire bed of the truck.
“You stay put, Arria. There’s only one option.” He jerks his head to the display window. “If they have several colors, would you like—”
“Hot pink.” I grin. “Or nothing. Just get me a latte.”
“Listen to her,” he mumbles, smirking. Then, he saunters back in, is met by the fawning storeowner at the door already, and is out again in two minutes flat with yet another Rolls Royce, which will occupy half of the backseat of the truck. “The box it came in was giant, so I left it behind,” he informs me unnecessarily.
I wake up slowly, with Leon’s hand on my stomach. After he sated my need for decaf lattes and bagels, we swung by a paint store. I was too exhausted to go inside, though—or to keep my eyes open for that matter. This pregnancy thing wears me out.
“You were passed out, but he isn’t,” Leon whispers. The baby curls like a big, sleepy cat inside of me. Stretches and forms the way he’s most comfortable. The little guy’s all over the place; sometimes I wonder how there’s room for my own organs in there.
At the moment, he’s got a limb extended so far he’s distorting my middle. Unfortunately, my shirt is of the stretchy, comfortable variety, which slinks tightly over my stomach and really showcases the sudden lack of symmetry.
I use both hands to lift my belly back in place. Up front, please. “Hey,” Leon says, voice low as if I’m still asleep. “Don’t do that. You’re disturbing him.”
“But he’s disturbing me.” I chuckle. “You should try having a human cannonball inside of you sometimes. One that likes to take on crazy shapes and press into odd corners of you until you can hardly breathe.” I make it sound worse than it is. Although the breathing part? I inhale deeply, because honest to God, intestines are one thing, but if only he could leave my lungs alone. Oh, and my bladder.
“Are we home yet?” I raise my gaze from my little Leon-and-baby world and realize we’re parked outside Smother already.
“Yep, time to get painting,” my baby daddy says. Leon doesn’t mess around. Me, I do not want to paint right now. I want to sleep.
“I wish I could, sweetie. The fumes, you know, aren’t good for the baby.”
He narrows his eyes, on to my weaselly ways. “Right.” He doesn’t say what he surely thinks, that I’m full of BS and he’d never buy harmful paint. “Let’s not take any chances. You stay in the den, continue your little catnap, and I’ll get his color up.”
I blink innocently. “Once it’s dry, I’ll plaster up the borders.”
“Plan,” he confirms, lifting his hand in a high five, and grateful, I slap it.
As he gets out of the car, he stops for a moment, really looking at me. His eyes rove over my amoeba form. “Do you know that you’re hot as hell with my baby in you?”
I rock for momentum to get out of my seat, thinking of how not sexy I am. I cannot fathom the glint in his eyes right now. I look my love over. Slender, absolutely rock-hard body and pouty, red lips. Pitch-black spikes of hair caress high cheekbones and obscures glittering eyes. Damn. We’re not even from the same planet these days. “Funny you should say that, Leon-dear. You’re not so shabby yourself.”
The music thumps downstairs already, but Leon’s been true to his word. He wasn’t going to leave the apartment until the first coat of pastel teal had been evenly splattered across the guestroom walls. I’m in the doorway, watching as he sinks the paint roller into a small tub of water.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll slap on another layer, and we’ll be good to go for your borders.” He flicks a look in the direction of the rolls replete with pastel baby dinosaurs. I smile wide. They are seriously the cutest borders ever. Leon doesn’t return my smile, but a subtle gleam in his gaze shows that he appreciates my reaction.
“It’s so pretty, Leon. I couldn’t imagine this as anything besides a guestroom, but hey—it’s turning into a nursery, huh?”
My domesticated man steadies his fists on his hips and gives his work a quick onceover. He’s content. Ah, how I like Content Leon.
“Better be,” he replies. Then, he backs me out of the room, crowding me too fast so he can morph back into Non-domestic Leon. He grabs my face with paint-covered hands and sucks on my lips. “You want to play before work?” he hums, needing me.
“Really?” I ask though I should be used to his sex drive by now. Part of my body stirs to life while another is just—hardcore napping. Like my brain.
“I think so,” he whispers against my mouth, hands already under my shirt. Sneaking up the swell of my sides, his fingers spread over each rib above. “A little bit?”
“So you want me all flushed for the first part of the night downstairs?”
“Hmm, yes. Nothing’s better than seeing you across the room with my favorite expression on your face. And here?” He touches the skin at my neckline. “This is where you drive me crazy. You blotch, Arria, when you�
��ve been pleased through and through.”
Jesus. Okay. Dirty-talking son of a gun.
“Bedroom. Now.” I’m only partly joking. My heart rate picks up already, wondering what he’ll do to me.
Leon laughs, voice deceptively low. “Hell yes.”
“We need to talk at some point,” I tell my brother.
Arria is three small weeks from giving birth. She and I are close now, and she keeps me informed of Shishi’s state of mind. It’s all based on how often he’s in the Bag Room and when he takes off on his bike. “You avoid me like I’m your enemy, Shishi,” I continue. “What happened? Why aren’t we sharing what we’re going through with our father?”
“Quit being in my face,” he barks. I’m not going there, not speaking up against his accusation. All I care about is persuading him. We are having this conversation. Dad’s getting worse, and he’s back in the hospital for the millionth time since I moved to Deepsilver. His liver is shot, and his doctor has no hope of a donor being assigned to him within the days, maybe weeks he’s got left to live.
“Leon, you’ve got days left to set things straight with the sperm donor. What if he slides into a coma and doesn’t wake up before you do?”
The bank is a block from Smother, which is where he’s heading. I’m just stalking him—bugging him. Leon stops and twists to me. My brother’s voice has that low, menacing lilt I prefer not to be on the receiving end of when he replies.
“Katsu. I do all that I can. Everything. I go to the damn hospital almost every day. Hell, thanks to Arria, I even see a fucking shrink.”
“Yeah, but do you follow the shrink’s recommendations?”
“What, and let the son of a bitch talk to me? Fucking apologize, get shit off his chest so that it’s all on me instead of on him? Hell no!”
A rush of urgency courses through me. How do I make him understand? It’s at the tip of my tongue again: even if I know that it doesn’t sway him, I’m dying to repeat what I’ve told him for months.
I change my tactic. “Shishi, we’ve only visited separately since the first time Dad was hospitalized. Can we go together again?”
