by V. Vaughn
I slap the magazine down in my lap, because I really hate that I don’t know what to do. I shake my head at myself. I would never go into a client meeting without a plan, and I’m not going to tell my husband about the mess I’ve gotten us into until I know how I’m going to set things right.
“I know this is hard for you,” says Tristan as he walks into the room with two plates. I notice sandwiches as he sets our meal on the coffee table and places himself across from me. He reaches over for the paperwork I received from the law firm, but I quickly lean forward and grab it before he can. “Cassie?” Tristan frowns at me. “I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing,” I say. I know I have to give him something, and reading that our health insurance was terminated isn’t going to tell Tristan more than I’m ready for him to know, so I set the papers back down on the coffee table. “I had to figure out health insurance because it’s cancelled at the end of today.” I reach for my sandwich and take a bite to hide my uneasiness.
“That’s expensive, isn’t it?” Tristan asks as he reaches for the papers. He skims them and then lets out a low whistle. “The extension option is a crazy amount of money.”
“I know.” If he thinks that’s bad, he doesn’t want to know what we pay in rent. Suddenly I feel guilty, as if I’ve set us up to live beyond our means all this time. And right now I suppose we are. I say, “It’s fine, though.” Because I’ll dip into my investments before I tell you otherwise. A tomato slips out from between the bread of my sandwich and splats on my plate.
“I’m sure it is, and I’d know for myself if you’d put me on the account.” Tristan’s voice isn’t laced with sarcasm, and I know my husband well enough that I think he’s being matter of fact.
The truth is I told him I’d put him on my bank account when we got married. And I meant to, but I’ve been so busy, I forgot. “You’re right. We do need to get that done.”
He smiles at me. “The doctor said you can walk short distances, so maybe once we’re sure everything is fine we can go to the bank.”
I nod, and since I don’t want to have to lie to Tristan, I change the subject. “Are you writing this afternoon?” I ask as I crunch on a potato chip.
“I am.” Tristan squints at me. “Are you telling me everything? Because I can get a job if we need me to.”
“No. I—” This is my chance to confess to our financial woes, and I know I should. I flash to when I was in high school and found out the house I was living in was under foreclosure and we were on the verge of being evicted because my father hadn’t paid the mortgage in months. My life was hell back then trying to sort out what to do, and I won’t put Tristan through that kind of worry. Especially when I know I have the power to deal with it on my own. I say, “No. You do not, and should not get a job. Your writing is too important. I’m still reeling about losing my job. That’s all.”
Tristan grabs the cookie on his plate and stacks it on top of mine. “Their loss, babe. A year from now you’ll be facing Lara in a courtroom and showing her just how big a loss it was.” He stands up and grabs his laptop to carry along with his plate to the kitchen. I break off a piece of cookie and put it in my mouth, but the pleasure of sweet flavor is overpowered by the taste of my lie.
Chapter 7
Because I don’t want to deal with my financial downfall, I ignore it for two weeks as I tell myself I deserve the time off. I settle into a routine of sleeping more than I thought possible, reading the classics I’ve never gotten around to reading, and binge watching shows I’ve never had time to see. And I’m eating. Although not as much as I’d like, because I’m still afraid of gaining a hundred pounds.
I glance at the door as I hear the lock click open and smile when Tristan enters. He’s carrying a gift basket, but I’m distracted by the way his eyes are wide and his step seems lively as if he’s full of energy. He shouldn’t be. I’ve discovered my husband’s routine is more taxing than I knew. He gets up before I do to write and leaves by nine to work with alien addicts. Since he takes his laptop with him, I suspect Tristan also finds a place to write that is away from me and my distractions, because he doesn’t come back until close to dinner time. He then cooks for us and somehow manages to get the household chores done too before he sits down to write more. And he’s usually up well past when I’ve gone to bed. I say, “Hey there. I missed you.”
“Hey. This was downstairs for you,” he says as he sets my gift on the coffee table with a thump. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a woman of leisure.” I scoot forward on the couch to check out the basket. “I’m thinking about taking up knitting or another craft though. I feel as if I need to do something useful with my time.”
“You are.” Tristan leans down to kiss me. “You’re making a baby.”
Cellophane crackles as I remove the bow on my basket. It’s full of gourmet snacks, and I eye them deciding what to eat first. Since I left work, I’ve gotten quite a few gifts from past clients and colleagues congratulating me on my pregnancy. From the notes, I’ve determined the story the firm is going with is that I decided to stay home with my child.
“I’m serious about working,” I say. “I had an idea for a job I want to run by you.”
He sits at the end of the couch and pats his lap for me to put my feet in it. I grab a pear and swing my legs back up on the couch to let him massage me. “Cassie,” says Tristan. “The doctor wants you to take it easy and avoid stress.”
“I know.” I let out a sigh as Tristan begins to rub my foot and my arch relaxes under his touch. “But what I want to do isn’t stressful. I thought I’d contact an online law school and offer to teach classes. It’ll keep me busy.”
Tristan scowls as I crunch into my pear. “If you’re worried about money I—”
“No!” I say more loudly than I intended. “I mean. I told you, we’re fine.” I wipe pear juice from my lips. “I said I don’t want you to work and I meant it.”
“Why are you so set against me working?” he asks with a tone of annoyance in his voice that’s come out lately. It makes me wonder if his lack of sleep is taking a toll on his emotions.
“That’s my role. You,” I sweep my arm out, “you make where we live home, and you do a really good job of it.”
“Huh.” Tristan stands up and he quips, “I guess I should go make dinner then.”
“Tristan,” I call out as he walks to the kitchen. “What’s the matter?”
He stops in place and turns around slowly. His eyes flash with anger and something a little wild. It would scare me if I didn’t know him. “I can’t decide if you think I’m stupid or just want to control me.”
“Neither. What makes you say that?”
“The bank account, for one.”
He’s been trying to get me to go to the bank for two weeks now, and I continue to manage to find an excuse why we can’t. But apparently I can’t get away with it any longer. I say, “You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry about procrastinating on this. We’ll go tomorrow. Okay?”
“Good. Now about me working—”
“You are. Writing is work.”
“Oh. So it’s fine if I don’t get a paycheck?” He crosses his arms as he glares at me. “This is definitely about control for you, Cassie.”
“It is not. When you are published and the money starts rolling in, I promise you I won’t have any trouble with it at all. But if you’re going to write a good book, you need to be focused only on that.”
Tristan clenches his fists at his side as he takes a deep breath before blows it out slowly. I’ve never seen him this agitated, and I frown with worry. “Thanks for the advice,” he says in a strained voice. “I’m going to go make dinner.”
I let out a sigh once he leaves. I’m not sure what’s going on, and I wonder if he’s worried about me and the baby. I’m also afraid he’s going to get angrier when he finds out the truth about our finances. Tristan is definitely not stupid, and once he sets
up online banking, he’s going to see how low we are on funds. I mentally berate myself for not telling him about our situation sooner, but considering how upset he is with me, right now is not the time to come clean. I think it’s best to wait until tomorrow to let him know what I should have told him weeks ago.
I look down at the pear in my hand to see I managed to eat the whole thing without noticing. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as sugar though, so I rummage through the basket for something else. I find chocolate-covered nuts and pull them out. I tear into the package and put one in my mouth. The sweet flavor on my tongue makes me moan as I open the small card to find out who sent me the gift.
I chuckle when I read, ‘Enjoy motherhood! We’re sure you’ll be a success in the next chapter of your life. Sincerely, The partners at Sawyer, McCall, Underwood and Garret.’ I have no doubt some peon was tasked with sending this, because the women I worked for have probably already erased me from their memories and would be livid to know it took a two weeks for me to get the gift.
I pop a few more nuts into my mouth, and my stomach flutters in a way I’ve never felt before. I reach down, wondering if it’s the baby moving. It’s got to be too early to feel that, but I do have alien genes in me. I smile because I believe this is the baby moving. “Tristan!” I get up off the couch to take a few of my allotted steps per day to go to the kitchen.
When I get there I notice my husband has been a whirlwind of energy. There’s a laundry basket full of clean clothes with half of them folded sitting on the table, something is bubbling on the stove, and the dishwasher is open as Tristan unloads it. He glances over his cup of tea as he lifts it to his mouth, and I see a strained look on his face that makes me think he’s still in a bad mood. I grin at him, too excited to care. “I think our baby is kicking. Come feel.”
“Are you sure? I think I recall it happens as early at sixteen weeks.” He smiles. “Which you’ve already reached.” He steps toward me to put his hand on my stomach. But nothing happens, and he shakes his head.
It occurs to me that sugar helped so I say, “Hold on. I’ll be right back.” I shuffle to the living room to retrieve the chocolates. Tristan follows me. “I think our baby likes sweets.” I say, and I put one in my mouth. By the time I swallow the treat, our child is moving again. “There.” I grab Tristan’s hand and put it on my stomach. “Feel it?”
His jaw drops. “Wow.” He chuckles. “That’s amazing.”
“I know. And it’s really strong. This is definitely a boy, and I bet he’s got a lot of your genes.”
Tristan gives me a proud smile. “Then he’ll be quite handsome, won’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And smart,” he says as he wraps his arms around me. “Like his mommy.”
I gaze up at my husband. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I had a long day, and I let it come home with me.”
I place my hand on his cheek. “Do you know how proud it makes me that you work with troubled aliens? You’re a kind soul, Tristan.” Guilt tugs at me, and I know I have to tell him about our finances.
“Thanks.” He scowls before he lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s something—”
“No.” I put my finger over his lips. “There’s something important I need to tell you before I lose my nerve.”
“Okay,” says Tristan as he steps away.
“Sit,” I say and he moves to sit in the chair across from my couch.
I take a deep breath as I search for courage. “I haven’t been completely honest about money with you. While I have plenty in investments we can tap into, my savings isn’t going to last us through the pregnancy.”
“So that’s why you’re dragging your feet about the bank account.”
He’s amazingly calm and it makes it easier to admit he’s right. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
Tristan smiles. “I understand how proud you are, Cassie. But we’re going to be okay. I—”
“Ow!” I bend over with the pain of what felt like a hard kick from inside me.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan rushes to kneel in front of me and grabs my arms. “Oh my god, is it the baby?”
I hold up my hand as I wait for the pain to pass.
“Cassie! What’s going on?”
“It’s not contractions. Ah!” I swallow hard as I suffer through another forceful kick. “It’s like our baby is kicking me with pointy-toed boots.”
“That’s not right.” Tristan pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
I’m about to protest when I’m kicked again. I let out a grunt as worry grips my heart in an iron fist. What’s wrong? “Okay.”
After Tristan makes the call, he says, “Let me turn off the stove and then I’ll help you down to the lobby.”
I glance up at him as I wonder what this means. “Tristan. Please tell me the book on what to expect talked about this. This is an alien thing. Right?”
He shakes his head. “Cassie. I’m not sure what’s happening, but we’ll figure it out together.”
I nod as he rushes to the kitchen, and even though I have no trouble powering through difficult situations on my own and often prefer it, it occurs to me that I’m glad I have Tristan to do this with me. Even if the idea of trusting a man completely is almost as scary as what’s happening with my baby.
Chapter 8
Being rushed into the hospital on a stretcher again is like deja vu. I’m poked, prodded, and hooked up to machines like I was the last time, and Tristan’s expression is just as terrified too as he holds my hand while we wait for the doctor. “You’re sure you didn’t read anything about what might be happening in the book we bought?” I ask. “Not even under the alien section?”
“Cassie, I’m sure.” He lets go of my hand. “Why are you so positive it’s an alien thing?”
I groan as I get kicked by my baby again. “Because human babies don’t hurt their mothers.”
“And Eroscian ones do?” He walks away from me and rakes his hand through his hair before he turns around to speak again. “I’m going to blame this on hormones, because you’re not being rational.”
“Hormones?” I push myself up to sit as anger spikes in me. “Hormones! That is such a male thing to say.”
“I see you’re back,” says Dr. Carroll in a loud voice as she walks in. She glances between Tristan and me as if she’s checking to make sure we aren’t about to exchange blows.
I look at the doctor as I take a moment to compose myself. Paper rustles as she flips through my chart. “Your baby is kicking hard enough to cause you pain?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m not sure if it’s because he’s half alien or what.” Tristan lets out a noise of disgust, and I glare at him.
“Hmmm. I suppose that’s possible, but let’s have a look and see if it might be something else.” She places her hand on my stomach just as the baby kicks again. Dr. Carroll jerks back. “Whoa.” She looks at me with concern. “How long has this been going on?”
“It started about an hour ago. At first I only felt him move, but then it got more painful.”
“How often is it happening?”
“It seems to be lessening,” I say.
“We frequently see babies get active with spikes in blood sugar, but that’s a pretty powerful punch for a seventeen week old fetus,” the doctor says. “Did you eat anything that could have caused this?”
“I had a pear and a handful of chocolate-covered nuts. Could it have been that?”
Her eyes widen. “Chocolate? Yes. That very well could be the problem. Chocolate has caffeine and—”
Realization dawns on me. “And caffeine affects some Eroscians in extreme ways.” I glance over at Tristan.
“Yes,” says Dr. Carroll. “They exhibit increased energy levels and mood swings.”
I recall how much energy Tristan seems to have even with just a few hours of sleep every night. He’s also prone to angry outbursts I don’t recall him eve
r having before I started bed rest. Rage bubbles inside me, because of all people, Tristan should know better than to be consuming caffeine when he’s working first-hand with addicts. I lash out, “You’ve been drinking coffee! What is wrong with you?”
His jaw drops in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m drinking coffee? I’ve never touched the stuff.”
“It would explain a lot!”
He throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve got serious issues. Maybe you’re the one on drugs.”
“Nice,” I say as my voice gets louder. “Go ahead and try to turn the blame on me. You’re the—”
“That’s enough!” yells Dr. Carroll. She looks at Tristan. “I’m very sorry, but it’s against the law for me not to test you for caffeine if there is any doubt.”
His jaw gets tight as he scowls, but he manages to stay calm. “You won’t find anything,” he says between his teeth. “I know I’m clean.”
The doctor turns to me. “I’m ordering you not to consume even the smallest amount of caffeine either. I think your baby has a problem with it.” I nod because I think she’s right. She says, “Tristan, come with me.”
After they leave I lie back, and tears fill my eyes. My emotions are all over the place with my pregnancy, and I can’t seem to control the feeling of despair that washes over me. What am I going to do if I’m married to an addict? I flash to the horrible news stories of an Eroscian who chopped up his wife and new baby with a meat cleaver, and I picture Tristan in a wild rage before he returns with Dr. Carroll.
