by M. E. Carter
Her hands immediately cup my face as she kisses me back. “Yes, I missed you. And yes, I’m cranky. You would be too, if your body decided to revolt against you again, and suddenly you have restless leg syndrome on top of everything else.”
Pulling away, I really look at her face and notice her eyes are a little more puffy than normal. The circles underneath them are a little darker. I wouldn’t have caught it if she hadn’t said anything, or I would have assumed it was more pregnancy exhaustion, but now I can tell she’s not sleeping well.
“When did that start?”
“The day after you left.” She pecks me one more time and lies back down. “I’ll be right on the edge of sleep and my legs just get fidgety. If I get up and do four or five jumping jacks, it stops happening.”
Resting my head on my hand, elbow on the bed, I gently caress her bump. “That sucks, babe. I’m sorry. How is the nausea?”
“Better. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” I acquiesce, shifting gears. “How is the job?”
A giant smile crosses her face even while her eyes are still closed. “Awesome.”
“Caleb is learning quickly?”
“He’s such a good addition, Rowen.” She turns her head my direction, animation taking over her face as she talks about her job. “If I’d had any idea he wanted to be in the sports department, I would have been grooming him a long time ago. He’s so excited about being a part of it all. I guess that’s not really surprising. It’s hard not to be excited when there are games on almost all the time.” She suddenly goes quiet and swallows slowly, her tell that she’s trying not to get sick.
“Do you need something to drink?”
She shakes her head slowly.
“I thought it was better.”
“It is better. I’m only throwing up two to three times a day now.”
That’s down from eight to ten right before we went to the hospital. While it’s not perfect, there is definitely improvement.
“What can I do to help?” I whisper, pressing lightly to see if I can feel our son kicking again. He’s got a strong kick, but he’s also proving to be a bit lazy sometimes. But only when I’m trying to feel his foot, the little shit. Usually he has some sort of dance party in there when she’s trying to rest.
“Take a shower and get into bed with me,” she whispers back.
Kissing her forehead, I push off the bed to comply. That was already my plan, so I’m glad to see we’re on the same page.
I made quick work of washing, even brushing my teeth in the shower to save time. Focusing on the task at hand doesn’t stop me from thinking about how relieved I am to be home. It’s getting harder and harder to leave Tiffany behind. Not that I think she needs my help or protection or anything. It’s just hard seeing her struggling physically like this. And every day something new or exciting seems to happen.
Last week, it was new ultrasound pictures. This week, restless leg syndrome. I don’t want to miss any of it. The good or the bad. Huffing a quiet laugh to myself as I turn off the spray, I know it’s only going to get worse once mo mhac gets here.
Mo mhac.
My son.
The realness of the situation hits me out of nowhere again, making me stumble on my feet enough that I have to grab the wall. I’m going to be a dadaí. Shaking my head, I smile at the thought that at times like this I feel a weird sense of joy run through my whole body. It sounds crazy, but it happens every once in a while.
Finally regaining my balance, I dry off. Forget clothes. I’m exhausted. I’m clean. And I need to hold my wife immediately. The drive to get to her after being away so long is almost primal. And not just for sex. Of course, that’s on my mind. But my higher reasoning also knows she needs her sleep.
Finally, I get to crawl under the covers with her. Tiffany rolls over and snuggles into me before I even settle. It takes a second to get us both situated comfortably, but then my entire body relaxes into the mattress. I don’t truly understand how tired I am until that sweet moment when all my muscles go slack. Almost immediately, my brain shuts off and I begin to fall under…
Jarring back awake, Tiffany is shaking me.
“What’s wrong?” I demand, suddenly on high alert.
“It’s happening again,” she complains, a whiny tone to her voice. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her make that sound before, and I’ve heard a lot of sounds. It must be the restless leg syndrome.
“What can I do?”
She bites her lip and I know she has an idea. “This is going to sound really weird so don’t laugh, okay?”
“Okay.”
“It’s not just my legs that are fidgety. It’s like…I think I just need an orgasm or something.”
My eyebrows shoot up and all the sudden I’m wide awake. “You’re horny?”
She bobbles her head and makes a face. “It’s not that exactly, but yeah. I think that’ll fix it quick.”
Rolling on my side to face her, I’m not complaining. If that’s what she needs, I’m game.
Lying back, she shimmies out of her panties, tossing them on the floor, and my body immediately responds.
“I don’t need foreplay or anything. Just a quick one is fine.” Tiffany grabs my hand and puts it right between her legs.
I groan at the feeling of her. I love touching her here, and from the way she’s writhing, I know she loves it too. But before I’m going to make quick work of getting her off, I want to play.
Running my fingers through her soft curls, I spread my first two fingers out to the juncture of her thighs, moving down, then pulling my fingers together come right back up for a quick circle on her clit.
“This is not giving me a quick one, Rowen,” Tiffany complains, hips gyrating and making me chuckle.
“I’m enjoying myself,” I justify back.
“Enjoy yourself faster.”
Jutting one of my fingers inside her and back out, her hips roll, looking for more friction. I immediately comply, adding a second digit and holding them inside her.
“Right there,” she breaths. “Please do it right there.”
Moving my fingers forward, I find the soft ridges inside her and keep rubbing. Her breath hitches again, and I know I’m touching the right spot.
“Faster,” she demands. “Harder. Please, please.”
So I do. I fuck her with my fingers, hoping to relieve her body of some of the stress. It doesn’t take long before I feel the familiar squeeze inside of her, her loud moan confirming her release.
Her orgasm seems to go on and on, which isn’t necessarily unusual. But not with just my fingers. She wasn’t kidding when she said she needed to come. Her body is wound tighter than normal.
Finally, she begins to relax and sighs in relief. “Thank you, baby.” She pats my arm in appreciation, then drops her hand to the side, completely spent.
As I reach over to kiss her neck, hoping for round two, she rolls away from me and falls asleep before I realize I’ve just been shut down.
“Tiffany?” I whisper, her soft snore the only response I get.
Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling, pondering this turn of events. I’ve heard people say once you have kids your sex life falls apart because you’re too tired to care anymore. I just didn’t know it could happen before the kid was born.
Chuckling to myself, I make a mental note. The next time Tiffany says she’s fidgety and needs an orgasm to go the sleep, my fingers will stay firmly intertwined with hers if I plan to get a piece of the action too.
I miss going out. Not to parties or anything special. Just going out in general. To dinner or a concert or Discovery Green to hang out. It’s something Rowen and I used to do all the time when our schedules coordinated.
Tonight is a rare night that we’re both off work and commitment free, but instead of going anywhere, we’re sitting on the couch binge watching FaceOff. Again. As much as I enjoy our newest favorite show, I’m restless. We’ve done this for too man
y weeks in a row.
Sighing, I lay my head back on the couch and drop my hand onto my now protruding belly. It seems like it took forever to finally start showing, to the point that I was starting to question if there was really a baby in there or not. But there’s no hiding it now. Nor do I fit in any of my clothes. I never got to wear my new silk sundress before I grew out of it. Stupid, fucking, giant boobs.
“What’s wrong,” Rowen asks, tossing another piece of popcorn into his mouth. For a professional athlete, he eats terrible sometimes.
Feeling grumpy about all of the above and that he can eat whatever he wants, I spout off all my thoughts. “My clothes don’t fit, and I’m bored.”
He stops mid bite. “Is that why you’re always stealing my sweats now?”
I crinkle my brows. “You’re like seventeen feet taller than I am. You think I was wearing them because I enjoy my pant legs dragging behind me?”
“Maybe.” I take a piece of popcorn from his bowl. I haven’t tried popcorn yet. I wonder if I can eat it successfully? He nudges me with his shoulder. “Let’s go to Walmart.”
“Why?” I ask, sniffing the treat, still debating whether I should try it. It smells really, really good and Rowen shouldn’t be carb loading today anyway.
“Because you’re bored, and you need pants.”
That stops me just before I pop the bite in my mouth. “You think I’m going to find pants that fit at Walmart?”
“Sure, why not?” He shrugs. “They have everything else. Worst case, you can grab some yoga pants, or whatever, so you won’t trip while you walk.”
I sigh again and drop the kernel back in his bowl, thinking about how exhausted my body feels. As much as I don’t want to leave the comfort of this couch, right now the cabin fever I’m feeling is worse.
Making a decision, I roll around like a turtle on my back, until I finally shift the right way and end in a standing position. I ignore the amusement on my husband’s face, knowing it’ll piss me off if I think about how he let me struggle because it was funny. He better not try to get that on video.
“Let’s go, Rookie. Mama needs a new pair of pants.”
I stand corrected. Not only does Walmart have an array of comfy yoga pants, they have an entire maternity section. There isn’t a lot I would necessarily wear on the regular, but a few things will at least get me through until I can make a trip to a fancy maternity store in the mall. And it sure beats the hell out of the last pair of leggings that fit and a now-too-tight T-shirt I changed into before we left. I couldn’t risk the cart running over my pant leg so this was the next best thing.
“We found you some clothes. Is there anything else we need?” Rowen runs his fingers through his bright red hair, and I know he’s kicking himself for forgetting his beanie. He seems to forget it a lot lately. I don’t know if he’s getting comfortable without it or if the heat and humidity have finally gotten to him.
Looking up at the banners dangling from the ceiling, one of them catches my eye.
“Maybe we should run through the baby aisle,” I suggest. “We don’t need to get anything, but I kind of want to get an idea of what we’re going to need.”
From the look on his face, I know he likes this idea. Anything related to the baby makes him happy these days.
“Let’s go.”
Rowen slows his pace, allowing me to keep up with him as I lean on the cart, and we weave our way through the aisles. I’ve seen the baby section before but never really looked at it closely. It’s a small area in the back, but there are so many choices.
“Oh god,” I breathe. “We have to decide on one of a billion different car seats?”
Rowen’s chuckle sounds strained. “Forget the car seat. Look how many diapers there are.”
Following his gaze, I see what he’s staring at, and my anxiety cranks up a notch. “Holy shit. I’m gonna need to do some research on this stuff.”
“Uh huh,” is all Rowen says as we slowly pad through the area, making small comments here and there about how much crap there is for such tiny little humans. Still, it’s the diapers that stop me dead in my tracks. Rowen wanders off as I just stare. There are at least six different brands, each with at least six different sizes. There are ones with aloe and ones that are scentless. Diapers that have the word “organic” boldly printed on the front. How can diapers be organic? What does that even mean?
A short conversation Rowen and I had a few weeks ago at the doctor’s office comes back to me. There was some article he read about product testing in the waiting room. Maybe he remembers. If I can find him in this maze, I’ll ask him.
Wandering around for a second, I finally hear his voice and head that direction. “Babe,” I call out as I round the corner, leaving the cart behind me so I don’t have to navigate in any further. “I don’t know which brand we decided to get. Was it Pampers or…” As soon as I realize who my husband is talking to, I stop dead in my tracks.
Of all the people I expected to run into, Santos and Mariana and their kids are not it. But here they are, the entire DeLaGuajardo family right in front of us, all of us staring at each other in awkward silence. In a defensive move, Rowen immediately reaches for me and tucks me under his arm. I appreciate the gesture because I don’t know what to do.
I’m glad to see them together. I know how much Santos loves his family. But I was an active participant in that family breaking apart. It was all in the past, and I’ve forgiven myself as much as I can, but this is unexpected and, well, uncomfortable.
I brace myself, expecting to be berated or maybe even punched. But Mariana does the last thing I expect her to do. She takes a big breath and says, “Pampers Swaddlers are really good when they’re first born. Do you guys have a Sam’s Club membership?”
Shock runs through me. Is she having a civil conversation? After everything she went through? Everything I helped put her through? I’m stunned, but I also very much appreciate the gesture.
“Um… no,” I sputter quietly.
“I would recommend getting one,” she advises. “Diapers are a lot cheaper there, and if it’s a boy, the only diapers that hold Theo overnight are the Sam’s Club brand.”
“Oh. Okay.” I don’t know how else to respond. Not only am I in disbelief, but I’m so appreciative of the information part of me wants to keep asking questions. Quincy is the only mom I know, and she was never pregnant with Chance. He’s her biological nephew, and she didn’t get custody of him until he was two months old. The time frame before that is just as lost on her as it is on me.
“So how far along are you?” Mari asks, surprising all of us when she continues the conversation, never once asking whose baby it is. I didn’t realize it was a fear for me that she would wonder until this exact moment.
“I, um.” Stumbling over my words, I take a deep breath and try to refocus. “I’m twenty-two weeks.”
Mari smiles. At me. I’m standing in the baby aisle with my husband, talking to the ex-wife of my former lover. No one is yelling. No one is questioning my baby’s paternity. Am I the only one who feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience?
“The last half was always a killer for me. How are you feeling?”
I exhale out a long breath, my hand clutched to Rowen’s chest. “I actually really hate being pregnant. I throw up at least three times a day still. And I cry over everything. All the time.”
“Pregnancy hormones are the worst. I was a raging lunatic the last three months with Theo.”
A tremendous amount of relief pours through me, and I barely notice the men having some sort of silent conversation amongst themselves. I didn’t realize how much I need to know everything I’m feeling is normal. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. I feel like I’m going insane most of the time.”
“It’ll pass. And you look great.”
Santos leans his forehead on the top of Mari’s head and breathes in, I’m sure trying to control his emotions. The relief he must be feeling is something I’m sure he
can’t put into words. I’m having a hard time myself. I never thought Mariana would make small talk with me again. Not that I was actively pursuing a friendship with her. But this small gesture shows what a dynamic person she is. That she could extend this kind of courtesy makes me respect her that much more.
In this moment, if someone asked me who I wanted to be like when I grow up, I’d say Mariana DeLaGuajardo. The thought makes me weepy.
“Thank you, Mariana. Coming from you, that means a lot.” I wipe tears from my eyes and Rowen squeezes my shoulder. “See?” I laugh and gesture to my face. “I cry over everything.”
Marina then does something I never, ever expected. She reaches over to me and pulls me into a hug.
The tears continue to leak as I whisper, “I’m so sorry, Mariana. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
She whispers back, “I already did. Now you need to forgive yourself.”
I hug her just a little tighter. “I’m assuming you still don’t want to be friends.”
Mari laughs so lightly I know I’m the only one who hears it. “You’re right. But I’ve forgiven you and I’m okay with being friendly acquaintances when our paths cross.”
That’s good enough for me. Actually, it’s better than good enough for me. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
We finally break apart and all say our goodbyes. As soon as they turn away, Rowen immediately grabs me again and holds me until the last of my tears dry up.
“She’s my new role model,” I say into his chest. “Someday I’m going to be as strong and caring and compassionate as she is.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You already are, babe.”
Kissing me again, we backtrack to grab the cart, done with shopping. As antsy I was to get out of the house, now I’m emotionally spent. It’s time to get back home and get on with our lives, leaving the last of my ugly past behind us.
When my parents asked if we were free today, I thought they meant to come over to their new house, do a little light unpacking, have some dinner. I should have known better.
