by Kim Bailey
Why do I find them so damn sexy?
Beads of moisture begin collecting at my hairline and under my arms. A combination of nerves, hormones, and thoughts of this morning, turn me into a flushed, hot mess.
“Chante isn’t here. I’ve got go. Ultrasound technicians don’t wait around on the whims of sweaty pregnant women. I’m going to have to take the Metro. I’m going to have to go without her. On my own,” I ramble.
“Slow down,” he soothes. “When do you have to be there?”
“Half an hour. Oh, God. I’m going to be late, and I really need to pee. They make you drink a shit-ton of water—so much water—it can’t be healthy.”
“I’ll take you,” he says.
My rambling is cut short, although—now that I’ve thought of it—the urge to pee is growing. “What?”
“Let me change and then we can go.”
“No. You can’t do that.”
“Of course, I can. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not taking a bus to your ultrasound. If you’re going to leak urine in any vehicle, it’s going to be mine.” His smile is a heartwarming, panty-melter that leaves me in a stupor.
I can’t believe how willing he is to help me, despite everything. For a moment, I feel shameful—this whole ambiguous situation is my fault, after all. If it weren’t for my fear of bad choices and my inability to control my hormones, things between us wouldn’t be so grey.
Except he’s the one who shoved my offer of friendship back in my face. He’s the one who showed up at my workplace and flirted with another girl, in front of me. A beautiful girl, far more suitable for him, in both age and lack of baby than I could ever be. He’s the one who pursued me. He’s the one who cleaned up after me, saved me, kissed me... and so much more.
Screw this. Screw my nerves. Screw Caleb for making me feel irrationally guilty. Screw Chante for making me worry. Screw Sean for leaving me. Screw it all!
“You better hurry up,” I yell to him. “If you keep me waiting any longer you won’t need to worry about your car’s upholstery. I’m going to lose it here on your carpet.”
We make it to the clinic with less than a minute to spare.
The waiting room is quiet, except for the murmur of the television and the intermittent rustling of magazine pages. We’re surrounded by bellies of various sizes. Happy, glowing, pregnant women with partners who all look equally delighted.
My lack of a large, protruding middle makes me feel like an impostor. Other than my neglected skinny jeans, which I can no longer zip, I’m the only one who’s noticed the difference in my size. With my clothes on, it’s next to impossible to tell I’m pregnant at all.
At least I’m not here on my own. I’ve got a dazzling looking man at my side. He’s not the one who made my trip here necessary, but at least he got me here on time. Besides, he’s just as attentive, just as caring, and way hotter than all the other men here.
Even though we made it on time we’re still forced to wait. It must be an unspoken rule of health care—no appointment shall ever start on schedule. Each minute ticking by forces my anxiety up a notch. My screaming bladder is magnified by my jitters. I’m almost as nervous as I was when I first peed on the damn stick. If it weren’t for the calm man beside me, lending me his relaxed vibe, I’d probably be a total basket-case.
“Zadie Fisher?” A friendly looking woman wearing scrubs calls my name.
On shaking legs, I stand to follow her. My nervous stomach rolling with the movement.
Caleb stands as well.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Being your friend,” he whispers back.
When I refuse to budge—confusion and anxiety likely clear in my expression—he insists, “What? You didn’t really think I’d let you do this alone, did you? You should know me better than that by now, Zadie.”
He’s right. I should have known. He’s been nothing but reliable and giving from the day we first me. Far too reliable. Oh, so fucking giving.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s do this.”
The technician turns to us as we enter the room. “I’m Suzanne, I’ll be performing your scan today.” Her smile is genuine, calming me, just a little. “Is your bladder full?” she asks, closing the door.
“Uncomfortably so,” I tell her.
Ignoring my hinted plea, she instructs, “You can hop up on the exam table. I’ll need you to undo your pants, or move them down. I’ll need access to your lower pelvis.” Turning to Caleb she says, “Dad, there’s another stool you can wheel over, if you’d like to sit.”
“Oh, Caleb’s not the baby’s father,” I blurt, cringing as stress turns me into a callous sounding bitch.
“I’m the moral support.” His words are easy and undisturbed.
“My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Thankfully, Suzanne’s a professional and, unlike me, knows how to act like one. “You can sit or stand, it’s up to you,” she tells him. “We’ll get things started.”
Modesty has no place in a medical setting, especially knowing how much more probing I’ll undergo over the coming months. But laying on the table with my pants slung low and my shirt pushed tight under my breasts, I feel exposed. It reminds me too much of being naked, covered in nothing but bubbles, with Caleb sitting close beside me. Only now, there’s a pretty nurse watching us, and I’m lying on a table that has detachable stirrups.
Caleb moves up to the table and leans into my space, with his arm resting beside my bare stomach. I force myself to concentrate on Suzanne as she expertly maneuvers the cart with the ultrasound machine.
“This will be a little chilly,” she warns, as the ice-cold gel hits my bloated abdomen.
I barely register the sticky cool slide of the wand as she spreads the gel—my mind is racing. Am I horrible for not trying to contact Sean sooner? Can I yell at Chante for ditching me? Is Caleb moving closer, or is that my imagination?
But then Suzanne flicks a switch and presses the wand firmly against my pelvis. All my thoughts and worries fade. The screen turns from a black void, to a black void with a weird looking fuzzy blob in the middle. Suzanne turns a few dials, the room filling with the sounds of radio static.
Continuing to move the wand, she adds more pressure to her touch. “That’s the edge of your uterus.” She twists the wand, digging in just a little more. Suddenly the noise turns from strange static to a fast whooshing sound. Like something you’d expect to hear on a boat sonar. “And that,” she says, holding the wand steady. “Is your baby.”
My hand flies to the edge of the exam table. Caleb’s arm is there, and I grab onto him, holding on for dear life. His other hand moves to cover mine. Gentling my death grip, he laces our fingers together, holding my hand in both his own.
“Is that the heartbeat?” he asks reverently.
“Yes,” Suzanne beams at us, “Pretty neat, isn’t it?”
“It’s amazing,” he replies.
His words aren’t sufficient—but no words could be. Nothing can be said that would be meaningful enough. Nothing can capture the importance of this moment, or that sound. I’m riding an emotional tidal wave that I hope never crests—it’s an indescribable high.
“See,” Suzanne directs our attention to the screen. “This is the head, that’s an arm, and a leg.”
Looking at the tiny image on screen, it’s hard to determine exactly what it is that I’m looking at. It’s either a weird sea creature or an alien. The head is evident, but that’s about it. “Is that a tail?” I wonder out loud, not sure if I should laugh or cry.
“No sweetie, it’s probably the edge of the umbilical cord. Don’t worry. Everything looks normal.” As she moves the wand the heartbeat fades, getting lost amongst the static noise.
Laughing quietly, Caleb squeezes my hand tighter, his other hand moving up and down my arm in a gentle caress.
I stare at the picture, now frozen on the screen. Suzanne wipes the gel off my belly and continues reassuring me that my f
etus is indeed human. It’s surreal—that funny looking thing is going to be a little person.
My little person.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Caleb reaches up and brushes a tear off my cheek. The screen goes black and I turn to look at him.
Cal.
His eyes hold mine, his smile brilliant and full of joy.
“I’m so happy. You have no idea,” I tell him, still in awe of the tiny creature living inside me.
“I think I have a bit of an idea,” he says, running his fingers down the side of my wet cheek.
Suzanne hands me a tissue. “With the estimated date of your last period, and these measurements, I’d say we can safely confirm the due date set by your doctor. May nineteenth, right?”
“Yes, May nineteenth,” I confirm.
“That puts you at eleven weeks,” Caleb says, counting correctly.
I can’t believe it’s already been so long. How is it possible that so much has happened in such a short period of time? Was it really only nine weeks ago that I met the sweet, wonderful man who’s holding my hand and beaming at my happiness?
Fuck, nine weeks ago I was drinking my face off in a bar, lamenting the loss of the prick who knocked me up. A jerk who still doesn’t know he’s going to be a dad.
“Something wrong?” Suzanne asks, seeing the panic on my face.
“What effect does binge drinking have on a baby?”
“That’s probably a conversation you should have with your doctor, but I definitely wouldn’t condone drinking during pregnancy.” She does a good job of hiding her disgust, but there’s still a bite to her tone. It’s unmistakable.
She probably thinks I’m a drunk. A drunk tramp, most likely.
“I think what Zadie actually wants to know, is what kind of harm a single night of drinking might cause. Before she knew she was pregnant,” Caleb clarifies.
“Oh,” Suzanne looks to me, her brow smoothing, her tone easing. “You should still talk to your obstetrician. But from personal experience I can tell you that a lot of women have been in similar situations. Your baby’s made it this far, chances are good it’s a hearty little bundle.”
“That makes sense,” Cal says.
I’m glad it makes sense to him, maybe he can explain it all to me later. My mind’s busy compiling a list of all the inadvertently stupid things I’ve done to put this baby at risk. A tiny sea-alien that has no choice but to live with the consequences of the decisions I’ve made.
Poor, ity-bity, ugly sea-alien.
The emotional overload reduces me to a pile of jittery limbs and shaky breathing. My ultra-full bladder’s crying for relief.
Without bothering to adjust my pants, I sit up and try to scramble off the table. Caleb’s immediately there to help me. Leaning on him, I hop down to the floor, making sure my wobbly legs are really going to hold me before I let him go. I wish I could lean on him forever, just wrap myself in his hold and stay there. Something about the way his hands clasp onto my sides. The way he bends to support me. The way he watches me with intent. All makes me believe he’d be happy with that too.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Not really,” I answer honestly.
“Bathroom’s that way,” Suzanne tells me, reading my discomfort. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll leave your pictures with Caleb, in reception.”
“I’ll be there, waiting,” he confirms.
Of course he will. He’s strong, dependable, a great kisser—why wouldn’t he be there? I haven’t scared him off yet. He’s stuck around. Despite my drunken assault, my uncontrolled sweating, and all my unintended flirting. He just sat through a doctor’s visit, staring at another man’s baby like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.
Why couldn’t I have met him before Sean?
Why is he so damn good?
And why, oh why, can’t I let him go?
Caleb
THE PUFF OF AIR that follows the slide of the automatic door threatens to spark anxiety buried deep in my psyche. I push it aside and walk into the hospital anyway. This place can’t bring me down. Not today. I won’t let it.
I’ve been brimming with positive energy. I’m still intoxicated by the memory of Zadie’s hand, clutched tightly to mine as we discovered a miracle.
A heartbeat. It’s so simple. Yet, so complex.
Terrifying and wonderful.
Seeing and hearing the proof of life expanded my heart. I know Zadie’s responsible for bringing that into this world, but somehow, I felt part of it.
Holding onto my Zadie-induced high, I move forward through the hospital corridors. I move forward on the path I’d originally intended. Today, I’m going to help a sick kid. At least, I’m going to try.
“Hey, Renee,” I greet, walking into the volunteer office.
“Caleb!” She beams. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Thanks, me too.” The words are automatic, but I realize I mean them. Despite my fear, I’m determined. A steadfast resistance building in my soul.
“Great!” Renee practically bounds out of her chair. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce to you. A child who could use a friend. Would you like to meet her?”
Agreeing, she motions for me to follow her out of the office and down the hall. As we walk toward the children’s wing, Renee tells me more about the child I’m going to meet. “Abbi’s twelve-years-old. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s alone more than she should be. Her poor mother tries, but she’s single, with three other children. It’s difficult for her. So, our staff try to fill the gaps.”
“How long has she been here?”
“Not long. But this isn’t her first time.” Renee’s bubbly personality slips. “She’s having a stem cell transplant.”
The air stalls in my lungs, my muscles painfully constricting. Can I really do this?
Doubt threatens to flood my system, but I turn my thoughts back to the sound of life. I think about that heartbeat. I remind myself that miracles are possible.
“Ready?” Renee asks when we reach Abbi’s room.
With a block of fear in my throat, I nod my head in agreement.
This room is much bigger than the one I occupied in the North Bay hospital. The window is wide, allowing the bright fall sun to filter in. The overhead fluorescents aren’t even needed.
That was always the one of the things I hated most about being in the hospital—the glare of the goddamn white lights. It never felt natural and it always made me crave the sun.
Yet, it’s the little girl—pale and fragile—who lights up this room. She’s sporting the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. I’m glad to see both Abbi and her room looking cheerful.
“Ladies, this is Caleb. He’s the volunteer I was telling you about,” Renee introduces. “Caleb, this is Abbi and her mother Melanie.”
Melanie looks tired, greeting me with a forced smile.
“Nice to meet you both,” I say, offering to shake first Melanie’s and then Abbi’s hand. I’m both surprised and a little worried when I realize Abbi’s grip is stronger than her mother’s.
“You don’t look sick,” Abbi blurts.
“Abigail,” her mother scorns in a harsh whisper.
“It’s okay,” I tell them both. “I’m not sick.”
“But I thought you have the same thing as me?” Abbi looks to Renee in confusion.
“Caleb had the same type of cancer you do, Abbi,” Renee explains patiently. “But he had treatments, like the one you’ll be having.”
“It made you better?” Abbi asks, her hands grasping tightly to the blanket covering her lap. Melanie moves her hand to cover her daughter’s.
“Yes,” I tell her. “It did.”
“The doctor said I’m gonna lose my hair again. It’s already started falling out and I was worried it might not grow back as nice as it was before. But you’ve got lots of hair, so I guess it can grow back healthy, right?”
Smiling at her I agree, “It’ll take a while, but it’ll gro
w back.”
Sighing she looks wistfully at me. “You’ve got really nice hair. How’d you get it so shiny?”
Renee and I both laugh, but Melanie looks like she’s close to tears.
“What do you say we give your mom a break?” I suggest. “Melanie, would it be okay if I hang out with Abbi? You could go get a coffee or something?”
Melanie looks doubtful but Renee encourages her by offering to go with her to the cafeteria. With a bit of sweet-talk and the promise to keep it brief, she agrees to go for a walk.
“Is this weird?” Abbi asks.
“Is what weird?”
“Hanging out here, in a hospital, with me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.”
“What would you be doing instead?”
“Me? I’d be stuck in school, but I’d at least get to hang out with my friends. Maybe playing soccer.”
“You like soccer? That’s a fun sport—lots of running, though. I was never very good at that part.”
“Do you like sports?”
I tell her about skateboarding. About the freedom it gives me. About the pain it gives me too. She’s just a little girl, but I don’t lie to her.
For once, I don’t pretend.
We talk about what it really means to be a survivor. I let her know how being better doesn’t mean being the same as before. I tell her how scary it is to live a new life, but how grateful I am for having it.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“The transplant? Not too much,” I reassure. “The doctors will make sure you get all the right medicines.”
“What about after? Does it hurt then?”
“It might. But, Abbi, I can honestly tell you, it gets easier every day.”
Her smile is still wide, but I can tell she’s wearing down.
“So, listen,” I say. “I’ve got this family thing I need to go to, but do you think I could come back and visit you another time? Since you’re stuck in here anyway.”
“Like I’m going to say no.” She laughs. “I like you, Caleb. You’re the first person here that hasn’t talked to me like I’m five. These people forget I’m practically a teenager. I’m not dumb. You get that.”
