by Debby Mayne
Jimmy looks panicked as he ambles toward me. “Celeste honey, you can’t ignore this and think it’ll go away . . . not after this long. We need to find out what’s wrong with you so the doctor can fix it.”
“What if—?” My chin starts to quiverin’ like it always does right before I cry. I don’t wanna do that first thing in the mornin’—at least not on a day when Jimmy has a big meetin’. I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay, I’ll go.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes my hand. “Promise?”
I nod and force myself to smile back at him. Jimmy has turned out to be ten thousand times better at this husband thing than I ever expected.
After Jimmy leaves for work, I set the clock and lie back down to catch some more sleep. Seems lately that’s all I wanna do. If I didn’t just get over my period a few days ago, I’d think I was pregnant. But I can’t be. Can I?
The clock goes off, but I don’t get up right away. I’m afraid to sit up too fast for fear I’ll start havin’ the dry heaves like I done yesterday. But I don’t. In fact, I’m actually hungry, so I get up and head for the kitchen. What I want is some leftover chili, but I know better than to do that right off the bat. I pull out some crackers and nibble on them to see how my stomach takes to food. When I’m sure I can keep food down, I fix myself a small bowl of chili and heat it up in the microwave. It don’t take me long to scarf it down on account of I haven’t eaten since last night, and the day is half over.
It’s temptin’ to call the doctor’s office and cancel my appointment, but a promise is a promise, and I don’t wanna disappoint Jimmy. So I take a shower, fix my hair, and put on some makeup. My face is gettin’ sorta puffy. When it’s time to take off my robe and get dressed, I notice my face ain’t the only swollen thing on me. I never had to worry about gainin’ weight before, but it looks like I might need to think about it now.
I get to the doctor’s office fifteen minutes early. The receptionist hands me a cup and tells me to “go” in it. A half hour later I’m sittin’ in the examinin’ room, wearin’ a paper gown, lookin’ at a grinnin’ doctor.
“So how’re you feeling, Mrs. Shackleford?”
“Right now just fine, but I think I need to go on a diet.”
When she laughs, I think she has the strangest sense of humor.
“What’s so funny?”
She shakes her head and sits down at her computer. “Tell me your symptoms.”
“I been feelin’ all pukey for a coupla weeks, and I’m so tired all the time. I ain’t never been one to take naps, but now I find myself lying down once, sometimes twice a day. Oh, and I have to pee a lot. I can’t even get through the night without havin’ to get up at least once.”
She nods. “How about tenderness? Are you hurting anywhere?”
“Just around my boobs. I seen this mornin’ that they’s all puffy.”
Doctor Farrow is startin’ to look like a bobblehead, she’s noddin’ so much. “That’s normal.”
“It is?”
“Yes.” She scoots her chair around to face me as I sit at the edge of the examinin’ table. “Your quick pregnancy test came out positive, and all your symptoms are typical of women in their first trimester.”
Knock me down with a feather. “Pregnant? But I just got over my period.”
“That happens sometimes. Was it heavy?”
“No,” I say as I think back. “It was a little lighter than usual and only lasted two or three days.”
“Let’s do a full examination to make sure everything is okay. We’ll need to schedule you an appointment with an OB-GYN.” She finishes her exam, pokin’ and proddin’ me in all sorts of unmentionable places, and tells me to put my clothes on so we can talk.
I feel all weird and conflicted as I get dressed. My mind races, and my body tingles with the news. The nurse grins at me when she comes to take me to the doctor’s office. “Congratulations, Mrs. Shackleford. I have three children, and they’ve been such blessings to my husband and me.”
I smile back and thank her. Dr. Farrow comes in and sits down behind her desk. “Any questions?”
“I have so many I don’t even know where to start.”
“Tell you what . . . ” She leans forward and hands me a slip of paper with an appointment written on it. “Jot down all your questions and ask the obstetrician. In the meantime, avoid cigarettes, alcohol, and any medication. Do you drink coffee?”
“Until I started gettin’ sick, I drank almost a pot a day. But I don’t smoke or drink no alcohol.”
“You’ll want to cut back on your caffeine.” She tells me more things I need to avoid. “The receptionist will give you a list of precautions, and I’m sure the obstetrician will have more.”
I head home with a list of things to do, what to eat, and what I need to stay away from. And I feel like I’m livin’ in some sort of crazy dream. I pinch myself to make sure it’s real.
Once I get to the house, I pick up the phone to call Jimmy, but I can’t bring myself to give him this news without lookin’ him in the eye. Me and him have talked about havin’ young’uns, but we never actually decided if it was somethin’ we wanted to do. He’s good around other people’s kids, but I’ve noticed he’s always ready to hand ’em back to their parents after about five minutes. What if he don’t want this baby in my belly?
I rub my abdomen and think about the miracle of the life growin’ inside me. No matter how much I thought about it or talked about bein’ a mama, the reality wasn’t . . . well, real. And now it is.
The list the doctor gave me includes takin’ a prenatal vitamin, eatin’ lots of vegetables, bookin’ appointments to see the new doctor she referred me to, tourin’ the hospital maternity ward, birthin’ classes, and . . . . I take a deep breath. I never knew there was so much to bein’ pregnant. All I ever thought folks did was swell up like a blimp, eat whatever they craved, waddle like a duck, and holler at their husbands when it’s time to go to the hospital to deliver the baby. But the list makes sense. After all, this child is dependin’ on me for everything—from good nutrition to stayin’ safe.
That’s when it dawns on me that I’m gonna be responsible for another human bein’ for the next . . . eighteen years? An image of Laura and Pete’s young’uns flashes through my mind, and I shudder. What if this baby turns out like them brats? I have to sit down and take a few deep breaths before I fall over. Life is definitely about to change for me and Jimmy. Fear ripples through me, so I breathe even deeper. Lord, don’t let me fall apart. Give me the strength to do whatever I gotta do for this kid.
About an hour later the phone rings, and I know it’s Jimmy. I don’t answer it ’cause I don’t know what to say. He leaves a frantic message tellin’ me he’s worried sick and to call him right back. So I do.
“What did the doctor say?”
I inhale and slowly let out my breath. “I don’t wanna tell you on the phone.”
“Celeste, don’t do this to me. I can’t come home now . . . unless. . . . Is it serious?”
“Yes, it’s serious, but the news can wait. Don’t worry. I’m fine. We can talk about it durin’ supper.”
“Aw, Celeste, don’t do this to me.”
“I’m not doin’ nothin’ to you.” The instant those words escape my lips I regret the snippiness of them. “Sorry. I’m just not myself.”
“That does it. I’m coming home now.”
Before I have a chance to tell him not to, he hangs up. I start to make a pot of coffee, but the doctor’s list of what to avoid pops into my head. I pour myself a glass of water instead. And I add a wedge of lemon and some sugar to make it taste good. I’ve never understood how people could drink plain ol’ water. It don’t taste like nothin’.
Even though I’m expectin’ Jimmy home, I’m surprised when I hear his car door slam ten minutes later. It normally takes him at least fifteen or twenty minutes to get home.
He walks in and stands there, starin’ at me, almost like he’s scared
to say anything or get closer. My heart pounds at the thought that he might not be happy about me bein’ pregnant.
“Are you . . . is everything . . . I mean . . . ” He swallows hard and takes a tentative step forward.
I point to his chair at the kitchen table. “Come sit down, Jimmy.”
“Why can’t I stand?”
“Oh, trust me on this. You’ll need to be sittin’ down for this news.”
His face is all crinkly with worry as he sits down and folds his hands on the table. “Okay, give it to me straight, Celeste. I wanna hear the news.” He blinks, looks at me, and reaches for my hand, almost as if he’s afraid to touch me. “I want you to know I’m here for you no matter what it is.”
I open my mouth to tell him we’re gonna have a baby, but my voice catches. I clear my throat and grip his hand real tight so he can’t let go. “I’m pregnant.”
The message don’t register right away, but I can tell when it does about ten seconds later. His eyebrows shoot near ’bout up to the ceiling. And he smiles.
“I know we didn’t plan this, and I didn’t mean to do it without discussin’ it first, but . . . ” I lift my shoulders and let them drop as I shake my head. “It just happened.”
Jimmy takes a deep breath as he stands and stretches his arms straight up. When he brings them back down, he scoops me up into his arms and gives me the biggest hug ever. “You just made me the happiest man on the Miss’ippi Gulf Coast.”
“You’re happy about it?”
“Boy howdy, am I ever!” He lowers me back to the chair. “Only thing is I’m worried about you. Will you be able to get through nine months of bein’ sick?”
“I don’t think it’ll last all nine months.” Then I tell him what all the doctor said and about making an appointment with the obstetrician.
“This is great! I can’t wait to tell everyone at the reunion.”
The very thought of going to the reunion feelin’ as awful as I have been lately sends my stomach churnin’ again. I have puffy cheeks, and my hair has taken on a life of its own—but fortunately not as bad as it was before the makeover Priscilla gave me ten years ago.
“I’m not so sure I wanna go to that.”
His smile fades. “What are you talkin’ about, Celeste? We hafta go now. Don’t you see how important this is? Me and you will be like the stars of the party, with you pregnant and all. Folks will see us as one of them now.”
Maybe he’s right. Jimmy and I was both outcasts during our high school days, and no one gave us the time of day until they needed our help for the reunions. I don’t know why, but I get what he’s sayin’ about fittin’ in, now that we’re in a family way.
“I gotta get back to work, but I’m takin’ you out for supper to celebrate. Anywhere you wanna go.” He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Start thinkin’ about what you wanna eat.”
After he leaves, I call Laura and tell her we’ll be at the reunion. “We have some excitin’ news to share.”
“Are you finally pregnant?” she asks.
I want to smack her. “Yes, but don’t tell anyone. We want to let everyone know.”
“Don’t worry about me. I got too much to do to worry about spreadin’ someone else’s news.”
As soon as we hang up, I have no doubt everyone will know by the time me and Jimmy roll into town. Oh well. At least me and him’s in this together. And I’m startin’ to crave watermelon.
16
Priscilla
The camera lights are hot as I take my position on the blue dot beside Felicity Rhodes, the show host I work with most of the time. She’s been my favorite since before I ever got on TVNS, and that hasn’t changed. There’s something warm and natural about her style that puts everyone at ease—from the vendors to the customers who can’t wait to see the next product she’s excited about. And from what I can tell, she’s truly excited about every single thing TVNS sells. Like everyone else there, she’s tense right before showtime, but it’s understood because everyone else is too.
“You look fabulous today, Priscilla,” she whispers as the camera crew does their thing. We still have a few minutes before we’re on air. “Is there any truth to what I read in Famous People News?”
“Not even a grain of truth. Tim and I have been friends for years.” The makeup person approaches and brushes something across my chin, which I tilt toward her.
“He sure is cute.” Felicity holds still while the hair stylist sprays a stray strand. “Friendship is a good place to start. In fact, my husband and I were both dating other people when we met. We enjoyed so many things in common, after we broke up with the other people, it was only natural for us to continue hanging out.”
“That’s really nice.” I understand exactly what she’s saying, but how do I explain the part about the chemistry—that special spark and music in my ears—not being there. That might have changed a little bit lately, but I’ve attributed that feeling to exhaustion-based vulnerability.
I’m thankful when the producer lets us know we only have a few seconds before we air. And then I’m on. Being in front of the camera is fun for me. I feel as though I’m playing a part, and since I know what I’m talking about when it comes to hair, I know I sound natural.
As the hour goes on, I find myself laughing and joking with Felicity and the people who call in to share their testimonials with us. One woman claims the Ms. Prissy Big Hair system has added a spark to her marriage. She actually giggles when she says, “He says I’m hotter than I was when we first got married.”
Felicity has a cute comeback, and the woman goes on to say she’d never be without my products, and she’s excited to try my new and improved line. The next woman comes on air to say she bought the kit after seeing how pretty it made someone else’s hair. I’m feeling really good about things until someone stuns me with the question, “Why are you denying your relationship with that man I saw you with in the magazine? It’s obvious the two of you are meant for each other.”
When Felicity sees that I’m speechless, she takes over, and the camera pans away from me and zooms in on her. I sure hope Tim isn’t watching, but I suspect he is, since he always has in the past.
Each time I’ve been on air at TVNS, we sell out before the show is over, and this is no exception, even though I upped my order by fifty percent. “That’s all we’ve got, folks.” Felicity’s voice practically purrs as she lets the audience know that I’ll be back soon with even more products that are formulated to give women full, lustrous hair that will turn heads whenever they enter a room. “Here’s Lawrence Holt with the latest in home design.” We both hold our smiles until we get the signal we’re off the air.
“Now that’s what I’d call a successful show.” Felicity unclips her own microphone, and I follow suit. “Ms. Prissy Big Hair has turned out to be one of our most profitable products.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “I bet you’re feeling really good about that.”
“Yes, it does feel good.” I try my best to act more enthusiastic than I actually am, but I think she can see through me, even though she doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, she asks me to join her for coffee at the TVNS cafeteria, where all the employees, show hosts, and vendors congregate and enjoy one another’s company. I accept.
It’s mid-afternoon, so most of the lunch crowd has gone back to work. What we see now are camera crewmembers and a few corporate executives who are stealing a quick break between meetings. A few people lift their hands in acknowledgment of either Felicity or me, but no one is fazed by either of our notoriety. It’s nice to go somewhere and not have people staring.
As soon as we’re seated with our coffee, Felicity leans forward, until her face is inches from mine. “So tell me more about this Tim guy.” I don’t respond right away, so she continues. “I know you say you’re just friends, but I’d like to hear all about him.”
I lean back and laugh. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”
“I never said that
, but just in case something does come of your relationship, I’d like to be in on at least some of it.” She tilts her head. “I mean, we are friends now, right?”
The look on her face is so filled with curiosity it’s comical. “Okay, so what do you want to know about him?”
“Where’s he from, how did you meet, what do the two of you do when you’re together, and . . . well, you know, all the normal stuff.”
“He’s from Mississippi; we met in the first salon I ever bought when he called on me for his uncle’s beauty supply company; we mostly talk about business or whatever class reunion I have coming up, and that’s about it.”
Felicity shakes her head. “That can’t possibly be all. What do you see in him . . . I mean as a friend?”
I think for a moment before I answer. “He’s very sweet, he’s polite, and he seems to want to make me happy. I also like the fact that he respects me and sincerely wants me to be successful.”
“Sounds like a great catch to me. So what’s holding you back?”
“Nothing but the fact that he and I will always be friends.”
Felicity plays with her spoon for a moment before putting it down and looking back at me. “I know you’re not asking for advice, but I think we know each other well enough to speak our minds.” She looks at me expectantly and smiles when I nod. “It isn’t every day you find a man as cute and sweet as Tim yet who respects you as you say he does.”
Her words are very true, I think as I reflect on my crush-gone-bad on Maurice. All he cared about was what I could do for him, while Tim waits on the sidelines, at the ready to help me accomplish whatever I want to do.
I decide it’s time to turn the tables, so I ask her some questions about her husband. Her expression softens to the point of dreaminess as she shares stories about how she discovered he was the one. I’m amazed by the similarities between her and her husband, Reggie, and Tim and me.
“Reggie really liked my friend Stacy, but she never saw the value in his decency. All she wanted was someone who could make a lot of money and let her buy whatever she wanted. Reggie wanted to go into the military after college, and that wasn’t good enough for her.”
