by Kat T. Masen
“Um… yes. God, he’s really taking this ‘daddy’ gig to another level. Why don’t you just talk to him and tell him to back off a little, you know, give you space to take it all in? You’re having twins for Christ’s sake. And by the way, do we know what we’re having?”
“I’m only sixteen weeks. We have a scan in a few weeks. I want to find out to be prepared, and Drew wants a surprise. Argh, the man drives me up the wall.”
“It’s a nice problem to have.”
“I’m sorry, Mia, I shouldn’t be—” I decide to cut myself off. Keep this big mouth of mine shut. Mia and Troy have spent the last year trying for baby number two, but nothing is happening. She constantly reassures me she’s fine to talk about it, but I know it’s hard. Me and my stupid big mouth need to shut up, but it doesn’t erase the fact that I’m showing, so no matter what, I’m the giant elephant in the room.
“Hey, don’t worry about me, okay? We have to celebrate you,” she reassures me while placing her hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t want to celebrate me. I want to celebrate the fact that Bananarama hasn’t reunited since forever and will be belting out Love in the First Degree. Oh my God, I love that song. I used to sing it in my room and pretend I was singing it to this boy I liked. He was so cute and everything you imagined your first crush should be,” I say out loud, daydreaming.
Mia giggles. “I bet you Facebook stalk him?”
“Duh, a few years back. He’s still single but has a kid, I think. Actually, I’m not sure. I was trying to read the comments of this post with him holding a baby but then got distracted by his sister’s profile, and all of a sudden, I’m stalking her twenty-first birthday party and Googling the venue they had the party at because the table settings looked amazing.”
“And… what does he look like now?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He ain’t no hot doctor.”
“You do have a very handsome man as your husband. I’ll give you that.” She laughs, turning the wheel as we find a spot straight away. “We’re here.”
Both of us let out an excited squeal before locking the car and making our way to the main entrance. We have an hour to kill, so we grab some subs from Subway before hitting the bar.
“I feel terrible for drinking,” Mia admits.
“Please don’t. If it were reversed, I’d be doing a round of shots and fighting security to climb on the stage.”
She drops her hand over my shoulders and squeezes me tight. “I love you. You’re amazing.”
Our seats are nothing short of the best. Third from the front and smack bam in the middle, so we have a close-up view of everything. The concert opens up with Tiffany, and from the beginning to the very end I’m on my feet, dancing and singing along to every song and forgetting about all my stupid problems.
It’s one of the greatest nights of my life.
Three hours later, I’m beat.
Resting my head on Mia’s shoulder, I make the mistake of leaning on her for support. My feet begin to ache, my toes crippling inside my ballet flats as the reality of all the stomping surfaces.
“Time to call it a night. I’m so partied out I can barely walk to the car.” I yawn.
Mia is still buzzing after abandoning me several times to hit the bar. By the way she swaggers and her incredulous laugh, this chick is hammered.
“Oh my God, so this guy, right, comes up to me at the bar, and we get to chatting. He’s like a lawyer or something legal. Check him out.” She points to this man standing near the exit. Very tall, copper-colored hair, and quite good looking from what I can see in the poor lighting. “So, he tells me I’m hot and gives me his number.”
I pull Mia back. “You told him you’re married, right? And a Mom?”
“Well, I don’t have to say it. I wear a ring.”
“But you did show him your ring, right?”
Mia laughs, brushing my concern off. “Harmless flirting. Who cares. Lord knows Troy does it all the time. You think his boys’ nights out are just a few beers at the local pub. Try strip joint.”
“Mia,” I soothe, trying to diffuse her over-imaginative thoughts. “Troy’s not like that. And even if he is, which I’m not saying he is, what good is it for you to get guys’ numbers? Are you going to hook up with this guy, I mean, c’mon.”
“Not everyone can have a perfect marriage like you, Zoey,” she hisses.
Ouch.
I remain silent, processing the hurtful comment from my best friend. It’s very out of character for Mia, and if I look deep enough, the problem is not my so-called perfect marriage but rather my best friend going through something, and this is a cry for help. The copious amount of jaeger bombs doesn’t help either.
Mia falls asleep on the car ride home. When we reach her apartment I call Troy for help, and he comes down and carries his wife upstairs. I follow behind him, hoping to get in a quick word.
“I’m sorry. I should have watched her, you know, monitored her drinks. She’ll be out like a light until morning.”
He places her on the couch, removing her shoes and throwing a blanket over her.
“It’s not your fault, Zoey. Mia is… she’s unhappy. With me, our marriage, our life… just everything.” He lowers his head. “Listen, you should go. It’s late, and you’re pregnant. Maybe I should drive you home?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, I’m fine. I’ll return her car tomorrow,” I reassure him. “We’re here, Troy, both Drew and I if you need us, okay?”
He nods offering a smile before I close the door behind me.
It’s only a twenty-minute drive home, but boy, did that twenty minutes feel long. As soon as the keys jiggle and I’m through the door, my apartment is in full view, I breathe this long sigh of relief.
I find Drew sitting in our bed with his reading glasses on and some medical textbook. His beautiful, muscular chest is bare, half-covered in our fresh white sheets—some weird thread count which he claims helps him sleep better. I call bullshit on that but let him have it anyway.
I seriously wonder how I got so lucky to land a husband so sexy, intelligent, and perfect in every way. Just the sight of him in our bed makes my stomach do backflips.
“You’re home.” He closes his book, meeting my eyes with a sexy grin. “How was it?”
“Great, fantastic.” I yawn, unable to hold it in. “Babe, is our marriage too perfect?”
Drew puts his book down, gazing at me curiously. “Where did this come from?”
I sit beside him removing my shoes and pulling the hair tie out of my hair while explaining to him what happened tonight. “And here’s the thing, I know she doesn’t mean it, but is that how she sees us? Am I rubbing this pregnancy in her face?”
Drew wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him as we spoon in our bed. “We’re not perfect, okay? You still leave clothes on the bathroom floor. It drives me fucking insane. Same as when you half close jars. Like how hard is it screw the cap back on?”
“I just have no patience,” I say sleepily. “And you’re annoying with your medical jargon and perfect diet. Plus, I hate how when you make the bed you have to tuck in the sides like they do in hotels. I feel so trapped.”
He kisses the back of my neck, easing my worries in just one simple moment. The sensation travels across my entire body causing my skin to shiver in delight. He still does it. After all these years, he still makes me weak in the knees.
“See…” he whispers, “… we’re not perfect but pretty damn close.”
“I love you.” I yawn again, my eyes feeling heavy.
“Love you, too, wife.”
As sleep becomes my only priority, I push my back into his body and bring his hands toward my chest placing it on my boob like I do every night.
“Drew,” I mumble. “Do you hang out in strip joints?”
Another kiss graces my neck. “Shush, go to sleep. And no… I have everything I want right in this bed.”
My eyes spring open wide with fear and my heart�
��s beating like crazy. The room is pitch black, no sign of the moon’s glow or a single twinkle of a star. My hands begin to search the bed patting the crumpled sheets until I reach Drew’s arm.
Thank God.
The dream replays in my head.
I’m giving birth to the babies, it’s painless, and I’m dressed normally. No hospital gown or needles stuck in my arm. My hair and makeup are perfect like I just stepped out of a salon. I’m desperate to see the babies, requesting the nurse to push them close to me, and when she does, there are two pineapples.
I begin to panic, demanding answers. I begin screaming for Drew, but he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, walking into the room is my ex—Jess.
Then I wake up.
My heart rate begins to settle, realizing it’s just a stupid dream. But unfortunately, my bladder has other plans. Turning on the side lamp, praying I don’t wake Drew, I make my way to the bathroom to relieve myself. I can’t even remember the last time I slept through the night. Mia warned me that my numerous toilet trips will prepare me for the lack of sleep once the babies arrive.
Back in bed, I’m about to turn the lamp off when I feel this slight bump in my stomach.
Huh, what the hell is that?
I give it a few moments before it happens again. Nothing. I place the palm of my hand where the bump occurs and glide it over my skin until the tiny bump presses against my palm.
I gasp, loudly.
Drew sits up, on auto-pilot, squinting from the light. “Zo, what’s wrong?”
“I think one of the babies kicked.”
“What? Let me feel.” Drew opens his eyes wide, immediately giving me his hand which I place on the exact spot where I felt it.
We wait minutes on end with no movement.
“I’m sorry, babe,” I tell him. “Maybe tomorrow?”
The sparkle in his eyes begins to fade, his posture falling from the disappointment of missing out.
Drew removes his hand, pulling the duvet cover back over him as I turn off the light. Laying there in the darkness, I roll over to my side and face Drew’s chest. Sleeping on my stomach is no longer an option—something I miss terribly. Sleeping on my back lasted only a short time, so my most comfortable position is my side. My eyelids begin to droop, heavy and overridden with exhaustion when suddenly, that bump wakes me up.
Instantly, I grab Drew’s hand and place it back on my stomach.
Bump.
“I feel it,” Drew exclaims, full of excitement. “The baby kicked!”
We both begin to laugh, wondering how in the middle of the night, our babies can bring us so much joy with the tiniest of kicks. This, for me, is the realization that I’m carrying babies inside me. Sure, the growing bump reminds me every day, but with that first kick my heart wants to explode with happiness.
And just like that, it all begins to sink in.
In a few short months, I’ll be a momma to two babies.
The pineapple dream was a sign, and only good can come from pineapples.
I’m dead sure of it.
Drew
“According to my book, the babies are the size of corn cobs,” Zoey yells from the bathroom as the duvet floats in the air during my quick attempt to make the bed. “Do you think it’s weird that I’m craving corn, extra butter, and a splash of salt?”
Zoey enters the room in only her bra and panties, rubbing some anti-stretchmark cream on her skin with one hand while attempting to brush her teeth with the other. Her tits are enormous, barely contained in her lacy black bra. Impossible to ignore by a man who is barely getting laid. The shape of her body is evolving each day, transforming in ways I never imagined. Her belly button—once inverted—has popped out as her stomach becomes round and fuller.
Grabbing the pillows, I prop them up so they’re positioned correctly and to my standards. “When have you ever had just a splash of salt? I have no idea why you don’t test high in sodium with the amount of rubbish you’re putting in your body.”
“It’s the stupidest test, anyway,” she muffles with a mouthful of toothpaste.
Despite her glowing skin and need to walk around the house in only her undergarments, it doesn’t stop me from wanting my wife. If anything, I want her more. Pregnancy makes Zoey even more beautiful.
“Okay, creep, stop looking. I can offer you a hand job before my hands cramp up from the water retention.”
“So generous of you.” I glance sideways avoiding eye contact. “I’ll pass since I’m running late for work.”
Zoey’s jaw drops, her toothbrush slowly peeling away from the entrance to her mouth. “I thought you were starting at three?”
I hate lying to her. This is harder than I thought. “Uh no, midday.”
Raising her palm, she motions for me to stand still racing to the bathroom to spit out her toothpaste and gargle water before returning to the room. “Are you screwing someone else?”
I knew she’d get worked up over this. Normally, Zoey cares less about my hours since she’s busy at work. But since the pregnancy began, she goes hot and cold on my ass. One minute, she tells me I’m a moron for making the bed, and the next I’m the love of her life and she can’t imagine life without me.
And neither of those scenarios result in sex.
“Zoey, just because I don’t want a hand job doesn’t mean I’m screwing someone else.”
She eyes me dubiously. “Take your pants off.”
“Zo, c’mon. I’m running late.”
“You’re having an affair!” She paces back and forth almost on the verge of tears. “Who is it? That skank is back… Rebecca or whatever the hell her name is.”
“Raine, and no.”
“It’s that new nurse… Shelly something. I know she was eyeing you at the Christmas party. Grey’s Anatomy prepared me for all the sleeping around. The hospital is just one big orgy,” she cries, her normally pale skin breaking out into red splotches.
Walking over to her, I pull her into me, closing the distance between us. “Would you calm down, please, and look at me?”
Her eyes—wide and full of disappointment—stare back at me on the verge of tears. Despite this hormonal outburst and my desire to take her up on the hand job, I’m truly running late and wish I could tell her why.
“I love you, you goof. And under any other circumstance, I would take that hand job and more, but I promised to get in early.” Lifting her chin, I search her eyes and wait for her to acknowledge the truth. Behind the rage and the momentary lapse of judgment, her expression changes to almost apologetic. “But I will take a late break if you’re willing to stop by for a quickie?”
Zoey releases a sigh, shoulders slumping.
“You’re hot and sexy. You’re a doctor. You’re like women porn. All the books I read call you a book boyfriend. And I’m fat. I can’t see my ankles, plus Lord knows what’s growing in that bush I have. I might have an endangered species in there for all I know.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Are we okay?”
She smiles, her chin in my hand. “Yes. Hope she gives you the hand job of your life.”
A sarcastic comeback sits on the tip of my tongue yet riling her up would be extremely insensitive of me. This is insecure Zoey. So instead, I smile and kiss her lips before leaving the room and rushing out for my secret meeting.
The café is busy with the usual city lunch crowd. I chose this particular spot given its proximity to the hospital, not knowing how long this will go on.
Sundays around this part of town are family day. Everywhere I look, there are screaming babies and parents trying to eat their expensive salmon while wrestling a toddler and caving with an iPad or phone.
I can’t help but smile. Soon that will be us. A part of my life that I’m more than ready to start.
Glancing around the busy area I spot her immediately. Her almond-shaped eyes lighting up when she sees me while waving me over. Weaving my way through the crowd without too much trouble, I get to the table and quickly lean
in giving her a hug and kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad you made it,” Mia says, enthusiastically. “Did she ask many questions?”
“Oh yeah… got the drill.” I don’t want to mention anything about the infamous hand-job fight. “How have you been?”
“Yeah, same, I guess.” I can hear the insecurity in her voice and observe the way she shuffles the napkin between her fingers. It isn’t in me to get involved in anyone’s relationship.
“I haven’t spoken to Troy in a while. We were supposed to catch up for a run, but I got called into work that day.”
“He’s busy. Work, drinking, work, partying,” she notes with dark amusement.
Despite Zoey’s concern over their marriage, I saw Troy a while back coming home from a late shift. He was at a local pub, a place notorious for Saturday night drinks and foreign backpackers mainly in their early twenties. Since they’ve had their kid, their marriage had turned pear-shaped. Again, it isn’t my place to get involved. Zoey manages to do enough of that for the both of us.
“I’ve only got twenty minutes.” Mia takes a sip of her latte. “So, the baby shower. Now Lucille gave me a list of Zoey’s favorite foods which I want to stick to, but I want to run it by you first?”
Mia rattles off a list of food, some of Zoey’s favorites.
“Um, aren’t baby showers supposed to have those cutesy, tiny sandwiches and cakes shaped like a stork?” I ask.
“Zoey hates birds. Don’t you remember the incident with the so-called doves at your wedding? And the cake isn’t shaped like stork.” She laughs.
How could I forget. One landed on her shoulder and she began to cry. She hates birds.
“Okay,” she continues, jotting it down quickly on some pink girly notepad. “So, you want it cute, but we still need to incorporate Zoey. After all, it’s her day. How about we do mini everything. Mini pizza, tacos, and we can have some healthier options and fresh salads for anyone like yourself.”
“Wait… do I have to be there?”
“No, silly. I mean hardcore health nuts like yourself. You need to drive her and tell her you’re taking her to Lucille’s for lunch, that’s it.”
