Plan Overboard (Toronto Series #14)

by Wardell, Heather

  She leads me off to the kitchen and settles me in a chair, then says, "Let it go, Corinne. Not good to keep it in."

  I still don't want to, but it hurts too much so I drop my head to my arms on the table and stop fighting the tears.

  I'm not even sure why I'm crying. It's not like I'd forgotten how great he was. But maybe on some level I had, because having that brought forcibly back to me is making me feel like I've lost the only thing that could ever matter to me. I didn't even cry this hard during that massage, but of course then I still had Austin with me. Now I feel like I have nothing at all, and the disloyalty to Georjenna in that makes me feel even worse.

  Mom rubs my back, not saying anything but comforting me just by being there, and eventually the flood of emotion slows to a trickle then stops and I mumble, "Sorry."

  "For what?"

  I look up at her. "Come on. For wrecking your party."

  Her eyes are wet too, but she wipes them and winks at me. "It'll take more than that, kiddo. Do you want to talk about it?"

  I shrug. "Not much to say."

  "That's the guy you and Galen mentioned when you got home, I assume?"

  "Yup. That's Austin."

  She looks like she's considering her words carefully. "It looks like you were happy together."

  My tears rise again but I take a long shuddering breath and push them back. "Yeah. I think we were."

  Galen, standing by the kitchen door looking miserable, says, "He'll be back, Corinne."

  Mom turns to him. "Honey, don't. That's sweet, but..." She turns back to me. "I'm sorry, but I don't want him to get your hopes up. Austin hasn't contacted you?"

  I shake my head. "We didn't leave on a 'let's keep in touch' level, let's say. And I haven't contacted him either."

  She gives me a sad smile. "I hate saying this, but it's been months. If either of you were going to call the other, it would have happened."

  "I know," I say softly, then heave a huge sigh. Somehow admitting it out loud makes it a tiny bit less painful. I can leave him behind if I accept that I have to. I have left him behind. I made that decision ages ago. This was just a momentary lapse of control. Maybe Aunt Phaedra was right and it is just hormones.

  "I..."

  Mom and I turn to Galen. He fidgets. "I don't know. I just... look, I saw you guys together, and those pictures are exactly how it was. You know I was the first to say he wasn't going to stick around, but now I'm not so sure. I... yeah, I do think he's going to come back. I really do."

  Mom and I exchange a look and I know we're both thinking the same thing: don't plan on it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Well, maybe he will come back, once he hears about your baby."

  I shake my head. "Come on, Laura, give me a break. He didn't want to know I was pregnant, so why will it be any different when the baby shows up?"

  Laura doesn't answer this, but she frowns at me. "You okay?"

  I blink. I'm not, actually. In the nearly two weeks since I saw those pictures of Austin I haven't been able to stop thinking about him and it hurts. I don't want to miss him but I can't help it. "Other than that I'll never see him again? Yeah. Why do you ask?"

  "You're rubbing your belly and you don't usually do that."

  I look down, surprised. "I don't know. It feels extra-tight today, I guess. It's extra-tight and I am extra-tired."

  She laughs. "Well, just don't have the baby right here. I'm not sure coffee shop workers are trained to deliver."

  "Pizza delivery guys are trained to deliver."

  We giggle, and she says, "So you think you're having a pizza?"

  "I'm not sure I care what it is any more, as long as it gets out soon." I rub my huge stomach again. "I'm about done with this."

  "I hear you." She sips her iced tea, then says too casually, "So, I have a question for you."

  I raise my eyebrows and wait.

  She rubs her lips together. "Do you think Austin would have made a good father?"

  My already-sick-feeling stomach twists even more, but the tears in her eyes stop me from pointing out that asking me about the absent Austin's father potential is somewhat insensitive. "I don't know. Even if he were around, he might not be involved. It's my baby not his. Why? What's wrong?"

  She swipes at an eye. "I know Grant can't be here physically, but... we Skyped last night. On for ten minutes and he didn't even ask how the baby's doing."

  I grimace. "I guess he's busy there, but—"

  "But his wife is about to have his baby," she snaps. "A little concern would be nice."

  I lean back, raising my hands. "I agree. And I have it."

  She squeezes her eyes shut, sending a tear down each cheek. "Sorry. Sorrysorrysorry. I'm obviously not mad at you."

  "How could you be?" I say, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm delightful."

  She bursts out with a startled laugh and grins at me as she brushes away her tears. "Indeed you are. But honestly, not a single question. As he was about to end the call I said 'By the way, the baby and I are fine' and he was all 'if you weren't you'd have said something', but still. Why did I have to bring it up? Doesn't he care?"

  "Of course he does," I say though I haven't met him. "It's probably just his way of coping, to put it aside since he can't do anything about it."

  "Well, that's stupid," she says flatly. "Talk about denial."

  I stare at my water bottle and try to think of a response. Is it stupid? It's totally what I did with Austin. And even before him, with the music. I thought it was logical, to stop thinking about things I couldn't change, but when Laura describes Grant doing it I agree that it sounds stupid. So what does that mean for what I've been doing?

  She rubs her forehead. "I know, you're probably right. He must care. I just wish he'd prove it."

  "I can see that."

  "He wanted this kid," she says, toying with her empty cup, "way more than I did. It's not his fault he got deployed, I know that, but... the timing sucks."

  I'm not sure what to say. She didn't want a baby? "I... but you're glad now, right? That you're pregnant?"

  She looks up, startled. "Yeah. Sure. I just... didn't think I could handle being a mom."

  "Why not?"

  An alarm goes off on her phone before she can answer me. "Damn, it's three o'clock already? I have to get to my doctor's office."

  She's pushing back her chair and gathering her garbage from the table and I can tell she doesn't want to talk about Grant or her feelings about motherhood any more, so I pick up my bottle and my purse and get to my feet.

  Then I freeze, as I feel a steady trickle of liquid soaking the crotch of my pants.

  "Ready to—" She cuts herself off. "What's up?"

  Am I peeing myself? I tighten everything up to try to stop the flow but it doesn't work, and I know. Wynonna told us this was far more likely than the theatrical sudden flood of movies and TV shows. "I think my water broke."

  Laura's mouth drops open, then she laughs. "They will have to deliver your baby here. Sit down. Any contractions?"

  I shake my head and sink back onto the fortunately wooden chair. "Just the Braxton-Hicks stuff I've already been having. Nothing new."

  "Well, except that you're leaking."

  Reality slaps me hard. "I'm going to have this baby, aren't I? Now. And raise it. All by myself." Her doubts about motherhood are suddenly so clear to me. She's scared she can't take good care of a child. Well, so am I. And I'm doing it without a husband. What have I done?

  She sits down next to me then throws her arms around me. "You are," she says softly, "gonna have it, but you won't be by yourself. Your mom's going to be there, and I'll come visit once you've had it, and then you'll visit when I've had mine. And we'll help each other through it. We'll figure it out, one step at a time."

  I'd rather just follow my plan, but her certainty is comforting. I hug her back tightly, then stiffen as something more like a real contraction sweeps through me.

  "Felt that," she says and le
ts me go. "Time to call Helena?"

  "For sure." I haul out my phone and when Mom answers I say, "Ready to be a grandma?"

  She gasps. "Now?"

  "My water just broke at the Starbucks by my apartment," I say. "So yeah. Come get me?"

  "I'm on my way."

  "Wait!"

  "What?"

  I have to laugh. "Bring some towels."

  *****

  Twenty exhausting hours later, I finally hear the words I've been craving.

  "You're at ten centimeters, Corinne. It's time."

  Mom wipes the sweat from my forehead again. "You're doing great, honey. You're nearly there."

  "I don't want to do this any more," I whimper, knowing that's not an option.

  "I know." She smiles. "I remember. I told your dad when I was delivering you that if he ever touched me again I'd kill him."

  I giggle, but another fierce contraction sweeps through me and cuts it off.

  "Push, Corinne," my doctor says. "Go for it."

  She didn't have to tell me because I already am. I don't feel like I have any choice in the matter: my body demands it.

  When the contraction's over, I fall back and relax, then push again with the next one. Over and over, I have no idea how many times, I do everything I can to help my baby into the world then try to recover before doing it again.

  With the next push, though, I feel the baby move down far more quickly than before and the doctor says, "I see the head."

  This news electrifies me and I push even harder than I thought I could though everything's stinging and burning like someone lit a fire between my legs.

  It still takes a few more contractions, because when I'm not pushing the baby backs up a bit, but eventually the doctor says, "The head's out. Shoulders next, then the rest is easy. So close now, Corinne."

  She's right. On the third push, I feel the baby leaving me.

  But I don't hear anything.

  "Is it okay?" I say, frantic, trying to see. The silence is horrifying. "What's happening?"

  Mom gives my hand a squeeze, but before she can say anything I hear my baby's first cry and burst into tears too.

  "She's perfect," the doctor says. "Let me just wipe her off and you can hold her."

  In moments, the doctor lays my baby, my daughter, on my still-huge stomach. I stare down at her in wonder. Her tiny crumpled face is bright red, her head is almost completely bald and strangely shaped from her birth, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

  "Jenna," I say softly through my tears. "Jenna Helena Kostopoulos. Hi, baby."

  Mom gives a sob. "She's gorgeous, honey. You did good."

  I touch Jenna's delicate head lightly with my fingertip. Yes. I did. Now I just have to keep doing good. Doing perfect.

  My daughter deserves it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next two weeks are the wildest and craziest and best of my life.

  I can't sit down without a doughnut-shaped cushion under me, breastfeeding hurts more than I'd ever have imagined it could, and my belly barely gets smaller at all, but somehow none of that matters for more than a second.

  Jenna and I are beginning to figure each other out, and I'm fascinated by everything she does. Every wave of her frighteningly tiny hands or kick of her adorable pudgy feet amazes me. Though I've never been so exhausted I love having her in my life.

  Mom is at my apartment every evening. She'd be there every second of every day if I'd allow it, I think, and she also hints that she'd be happy to let me move in with her, but I have to learn to take care of Jenna on my own. So I let Mom change some of the endless stream of diapers my daughter goes through, and also let her bring me dinner every few days, but refuse to let her do my laundry or clean my toilet. Those things are tiring for me, since I only sleep when Jenna's sleeping and she wakes up to nurse every hour and a half around the clock and takes a good half hour for each feeding, but they're my job and I planned for them and though I'm more tired than I'd expected I take care of them the best I can.

  Travis drops by to visit after a few days, fortunately right after I've done a bit of a clean-up, and brings an adorable big pink stuffed bunny for Jenna and a huge bag of baby yarn of all colors for me. None of it is recommended by any of the patterns I've already got, but I love one bright pink and purple ball more than the others so start making booties for Jenna even though it's not the 'right' yarn. I'm surprised by how uncomfortable I am going against the recommendation, but the booties are cute and that helps.

  Galen comes over too, every day before work and most days after it, and he's with me so often I have to ask if Arabella's okay with all the time he's spending away from her. "Of course," he says, and the next time she comes with him and raves over how cute Jenna is, but after that it's just him again. Laura and I talk a lot over text messages both before and after her Jeremiah is born a week after Jenna, and we make plans to hang out once we've healed a little.

  I appreciate everyone's contact and support, but most of the time it's just me and Jenna, and as I look into my girl's sweet unfocused eyes I wouldn't want it any other way.

  When Jenna's two weeks old it's time for her first doctor visit. I wanted to have everything ready for the trip, but I had an unexpected crying fit when I couldn't seem to get Jenna's diaper on properly and I've only just recovered when Mom shows up to transport us.

  "I'm not ready," I say, feeling the tears rising again. I know it's a stupid thing to cry over but the hormones just seem to take me over. "Haven't even packed her bag."

  Mom smiles. "Then sit down with her for a minute and I'll take care of it."

  She does, with ridiculous speed, and as we're heading out of my apartment building I say, "You make me feel so incompetent."

  I say it jokingly but I mean it. Mom, though, only hears the joke. "I should," she says, grinning at me. "I had two kids, after all. If I can't pack a diaper bag by now I should hand in my mom card."

  They'll never issue me my card, at this rate.

  When we reach the doctor's office, the receptionist is on the phone. "Certainly, I can make you an appointment. For the twenty-seventh? No, I'm sorry, we're booked solid for tomorrow. But I can do Monday the thirtieth."

  She carries on arranging the appointment but I've stopped listening. Today is September twenty-sixth? That means I missed the twenty-fourth, the dreaded 'orchestra day' that I've marked each month since my failure. I didn't even notice it go by. I've hated every twenty-fourth, except for December's when I learned I'd conceived Jenna, and this time it didn't register with me. It was the one-year anniversary of the audition and I didn't even notice.

  Pure joy fills me. I've finally put it behind me. Because of Jenna, I don't have to think about my failure any more. It really is in my past.

  I have truly moved on.

  *****

  After the doctor pronounces Jenna perfect, Mom takes us back home and insists on making me some soup and toast so I can let Jenna nurse a bit. It's so sweet of her, but I feel wrong about letting her do it. She was always so organized and efficient with her two kids and I can't even make food for myself with one.

  I try to say something about it, about how I should be doing better, but she laughs and says, "You're taking care of my first grandchild, and she's doing great. You are doing great. Now be quiet and eat your soup."

  She sits holding the half-asleep Jenna and chatting with me while I eat, and as I take my last bite she says, "I've got something for you."

  I swallow my mouthful of toast. "I couldn't eat another thing."

  "Good. I'd be furious if you ate this." She slips off the emerald ring her mom left her and holds it out to me.

  I stare at it, then raise my eyes to her. "What? No, you can't do that."

  She gives me the 'I'm your mother, I can do whatever I want' look that I hope I've inherited for use on Jenna. "Of course I can. My mother wanted it to go to you when you had a child. So it's yours now, honey. And someday you can give it to Jenna."
<
br />   I look down at my daughter's tiny hand and try to imagine it being large enough for the ring.

  "Don't, or you'll make me cry."

  I sniff and wipe the newly-risen tears from my eyes. "Sorry. Just imagining her being all grown up. Hard to get my head around."

  Mom smiles at me. "I know the feeling, trust me. I can still picture you just like this. Anyhow, let's see how it looks on you."

  My fingers are still a bit puffy but it's only a little tight on my right hand ring finger. We both study it, and Mom says, "YiaYia would have been so happy to see this."

  Knowing how much my grandmother loved babies, I have to agree, although I only nod because I'm too choked up to speak.

  Mom clears her throat, and as I do too she says, "Okay, well, I think it's time for you ladies to have a nap. One of you, anyhow. The other's already having one."

  I look down and see that Jenna is indeed passed out. "Yup." I wave my beringed hand at her. "Thank you. I will treasure it."

  "No eating it," she says, giving me a joking side-eye.

  "Promise."

  She leans over and hugs me, then leaves, and I stretch out on the couch and get Jenna settled lying on her stomach on my chest. She loves sleeping that way, and I love the feeling of her there. If I were going to sleep myself I'd put her in the sling so I wouldn't risk dropping her, but I'm not actually that tired right at the moment so she's fine without it.

  I watch her for a few moments, so in love with her I can hardly breathe, then pick up my cell phone to handle my email.

  I've only done it once since Jenna's birth so I've got lots. My first few messages are congratulatory ones about Jenna from various relatives. I answer those and attach a picture of her since most of them have asked for it, then the next email appears and my heart skips a beat.

  Dear Corinne,

  If I've done the math right, and we know I might not have, it must be about time for you to have your baby. I hope everything goes (or did go!) smoothly, and that it wasn't too awful for you being pregnant in such a hot summer.

  Take care,

  Clay

  I lean back against the couch and wonder what to do. I don't want Clay in my life, because even his email address, which proclaims him to be 'The Clay' of Llama Spit, brings up all the memories of the orchestra and music and everything I've left behind. But we were together for years and he was always a sweetheart, and he's being sweet now asking me about the baby. Plus, his reference to the summer heat makes me feel sure he was the one who bought me the air conditioner and I have to acknowledge that in some way.