Almost Ordinary (The Song Wreckers Book 2) (16 page)

“I lost it.”

We had run up the stairs and into our bedroom as soon as Char left, only to find Caleb misplaced the sperm container. So instead of a sexy strip show followed by me getting him off—his idea so I couldn’t tease him later about jerking off in a cup—we needed to search for the stupid thing.

“We were in the bathroom, let’s look there,” I directed.

We couldn’t find it.

Caleb threw his hands up in frustration. “What the hell?” he yelled.

“Calm down. You were sitting on the toilet while I stripped for you.” The corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. “Where was the container?”

He pointed to the counter. “Right there.”

“Then the doorbell rang. Sang. Whatever. I threw my clothes on and left. What did you do?”

“I said every curse word I knew in my head then thought of something guaranteed to kill the mood.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

He shook his head. “It involves an old friend’s grandmother and some very bad timing on my part.”

“Ew. Okay. Then what?”

“I splashed my face with some water, toweled it off, and went downstairs.”

I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the bathroom. “You had to have knocked it off the counter without noticing it.” I crawled on my hands and knees and began searching the floor. “Wow, Franny does a really good job down here.”

Caleb crouched next to me and we hunted in silence for a few seconds. “Wait,” he said. “I think, yup. I got it. It’s behind the toilet.”

We stood, almost unsure what to do. Getting Caleb’s sperm into the container should not have been this difficult.

He held the little cup up and shook it side to side. A you’d-better-watch-out smile spread across his face. He closed the distance between us, and I felt the heat from his body.

Caleb’s smile faded and put his forehead to mine. “What’s wrong?”

My lack of excitement must’ve showed on my face. “We haven’t been together in forever. I want you so bad. And not, like, quickie bad, more like all the time in the world bad. But we don’t have time for that. I have to get you off, screw on the lid, then we have to haul ass to the doctor’s office.” I sounded like a pouty brat and I didn’t care. We’ve gone through a lot of shit recently, and I needed to spend time in his arms. Giving him a quickie hand job wasn’t going to cut it. “Will you promise me the good stuff tonight?”

He led me to the bedroom and pointed to the clock. “We have fifteen minutes to produce the sample and five minutes to dress and leave.”

“I want fifteen hours.”

“Well, there’s an alternative I haven’t mentioned.” He went to his bedside table and took a packet out of the drawer.

“Is that a—”

“Condom? Yes. The doctor gave me this and said I could use it to collect my . . . stuff. It doesn’t have anything on it that could kill or damage sperm in any way.”

I whipped off his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Next, I unzipped his jeans.

“I didn’t, ah, Jesus, Princess,” he whimpered as I groped him all over.

He gathered me close and our lips locked, hands roaming everywhere. I helped him rid me of my clothes. Soon after, my legs clamped around his waist.

“Remember that time at Brett’s?” he panted, referring to our hot, naughty tryst in Brett’s hallway. He stepped forward until my back hit the wall.

I moaned in response. His left hand wrapped around my waist while his right hand stroked the sweet spot, assuring I was very, very wet. Holy mother of God, I felt his touch throughout my whole body.

“Pretty soon you’ll be too big for me to do this—” He unwrapped the condom, rolled it on, and slid himself into me. “—against the wall,” he groaned as he began pumping into me.

“Harder.”

“You sure? The baby.”

I tilted my hips up the best I could so he could push deeper into me. He made some unintelligible sounds.

“Very sure,” I panted.

He pumped into me harder. And faster. My back might pay the price tomorrow and I didn’t give a shit. He drove into me, and kissed me, and gave me everything I needed despite the circumstances being what they were. It was as if we were both using this to release all of the bullshit we’d gone through. A few minutes ago I’d pouted, disappointed we had only this short window to be together. Now, we poured all our love for each other into this final apology. The hurt we caused ceased to drag us down, we wouldn’t let it anymore. The future flashed in front of us as we said goodbye to the negativity. Our passion acted as the equivalent of him giving me flowers, and me gushing and telling him thank you.

I’ll take my husband screwing the living hell out of me over flowers any day.

He kept at it. “Slow down,” I begged, “I’m too close.”

“Not. Slowing. Down.”

I came moments later, but he kept going. Maybe the condom lessened his sensitivity. Whatever, I wasn’t complaining.

My back, however, was about to. Just as I opened my mouth to tell him to lay me on the bed, he found his release with a loud curse.

I looked at the clock. “We have to hurry.”

He removed the condom, tied it off, and placed it in the container. We threw our clothes on and rushed to the doctor’s office, making it in the nick of time. Caleb had called the office in the car to let them know we were on our way.

Once we arrived, we received some strange looks. A quick once-over and I knew why. Our clothes were rumpled and our hair was messy. We had huge smiles plastered on our faces, like we had not a care in the world.

And really, we didn’t. I didn’t, anyway. Caleb and I were strong, the kids were one year old and doing great, we had money in the bank and a baby on the way.

Life was good.

Chapter 21

We’d dropped Caleb’s sperm sample off, and a half hour later the nurse called to confirm it was a good sample and that they’d call us again when the results were available.

Then life zipped into high speed. First we had to host Alex and Zander’s first birthday party. That, and having to go through their old toys to see what I could donate, then incorporating their new toys into the house, took up the entire weekend.

I finally told Franny I was pregnant when she came to work on Monday, and she treaded lightly around me all week. Maybe my crying scared her, maybe something else. Whatever, her act of delicacy around me was annoying.

On Thursday I’d had enough. I left a dirty diaper on the kitchen counter to see how she’d react. She didn’t. No smart comments about me stinking up the house because I couldn’t take the few steps to the garbage. No grumbling under her breath. Part of the reason I liked Franny so much was because she was real and she was honest. Who wanted their employee they spent a lot of time around to be a subservient mouse? Not me. I liked the occasional verbal spars.

“Franny, what the hell?” I left the boys in the gated family room and joined her in the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Stop cleaning and talk to me.” I held out a kitchen chair until she sat in it. Then I sat across from her.

“Spill it,” I demanded.

“Fanny, tuck,” Zander said from the family room, holding up the truck she gave him for his birthday.

She smiled at him, then turned to me. “I have a job offer.”

You don’t steal someone’s nanny! Pissed, I said, “Who’s trying to take you from me? Who? Is it that lady we sometimes see on the walking trail? Her kids are . . .”
very well behaved
. “Horrible monsters.” I lifted my eyebrows, waiting for her to confirm.

She shook her head, and the sad look on her face spoke volumes. I knew before she said it. “Not another nanny job. You know I only have two semesters until I finish my paralegal degree?”

I nodded.

“Well, I’ve been researching and it seems that unless I gain some experience, my career prospects aren’t very good. And it’s not like a paralegal degree can lead me into another field, the credits don’t transfer to anything else.”

I knew this day would come eventually. I still wasn’t ready for it. Franny didn’t better herself through education only to stay a much-loved nanny. Working for us wasn’t her dream.

“I don’t think of you as simply a babysitter and cleaner. You’re like fam—”

Crash.
We both jumped over the gate to see what happened.

The boys had managed to climb up the couch, grab onto a shelf I could’ve sworn they weren’t able to reach, and pull all the Christmas decorations and pictures off of it.

We each grabbed a kid and set them on the floor. She started to help me pick up the mess, but I stopped her. “I got it.”

“Molly, shut up. I still work here for the time being.”

Ah, the old Franny. I smiled.

“So, how long do you still work here?” Good God, why would Caleb sprinkle tinsel over the tops of the picture frames and how did I not notice that he did that? I began grabbing all of the pieces that’d be eye-catching to little boys.

“I’m going to replace a legal secretary who’s retiring next month. That’s, like, the stepping stone to becoming a paralegal. So three weeks. I’m sorry about the timing with you being pregnant, and why did Ram put tinsel on a shelf?” She played tug-of-war with Alex for a few pieces.

“Because Ram is a Christmas freak.” I finished gathering all of the pictures and figurines, and hid them out of reach.

We talked while I finished cleaning up the kitchen mess from lunch. I assured her my pride for her career goals trumped my distraught at her leaving. Then I went in the basement to work on songs and sulk. I
was
happy for her, bummed for us. We loved her.

And she broke up with us. I wasn’t sure about replacing her. Did I really want to introduce someone else into the boys’ lives, not to mention a new baby’s, that could possibly leave them again? I mean, I could totally raise my kids and write a kick ass album without another nanny.

I could move my music station upstairs, and the boys could play and the baby would sleep while I worked. Then when they slept for the night I could work in the basement so I wouldn’t wake them.

When I had to travel to Nashville, I could . . . shit. What would I do then? I put my guitar down and texted Caleb.

Franny leaving us in 3 weeks. Be prepared for more tears when you get home.

I love you. We’ll figure this out,
he texted back.

I love you too. The xmas decs come down ASAP and no more tinsel!

We’ll see.

Yes we would, dear husband. I set the phone down and picked my new guitar up. Playing through a song I had finally figured out the melody for, I pushed Franny out of my head. I pushed everything out of my head, including something I’d never considered before.

Maybe it was time for The Song Wreckers to be done.

Or maybe stress tired me out and I needed to relax. Tomorrow Caleb and I were finding out the results of the tests.

One week after sample drop-off we breezed through the clinic doors, this time our hair and clothes intact. Moments away from finding out the results of the tests they ran on his blood and sperm, my mind raced at the possibility of answers.

God, my nerves shot up several notches as we made our way to the doctor’s office. Kind of like when I’d been summoned to chat with the principal during middle school. Nothing good ever came out of those principal’s chats. It was all “hitting people for being mean is wrong”
,
and “next time we’re going to have to suspend you,” or “Here, Molly, watch this video that explains why it’s bad to hit people and write a report on it.”

See? Nothing good. Would it have killed them to say, “Hey, good job in backhanding little Shane. He’s a jerk.”

“If I was principal,” I told Caleb, “I would encourage kids to punch out assholes.”

He shot me a
What the hell?
glance. “What?”

“Nothing. What do you think the doctor is going to say?”

He frowned. “I have no idea.”

“Hmmm.” I had no idea either because I hadn’t had a spare moment to think about it.

Caleb and I sat down and stared at the doctor’s big, wooden, look-at-me-I’m-important desk. His office bore the mark of a professional designer’s touch, meant to calm the anxious couple who were dying to find out if they were able to ever have children. No generic wallpaper covered the walls, nor carpet used in place of baseboards. Instead, the walls were painted with muted colors and hosted none of that tacky “art” you saw in a lot of doctors’ offices. Real wood baseboards, bookshelves that were neat and orderly with real, live plants set on top, and homey looking chairs that were comfortable. God, this guy charged an arm and a leg if he had an office this nice.

The
How in the hell did Caleb get me pregnant?
made my head spin. My foot tapped a million times a minute until Caleb put his foot on mine. He raked his hands through his hair, so I knew he wasn’t as comfortable as he portrayed.

For the third time in the last hour, Caleb’s text message alert trilled. He glanced at the message, shook his head, then set it to vibrate.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

The doctor came in, cutting me off from asking more. He shook our hands and went behind his desk. “So, what’s up doc?” I asked, Bugs-Bunny style, when he sat down. I thought humor might help ease the tension we felt. I heard Caleb sigh while the doctor grimaced. “Sorry.”

The doctor fixed his face into a smile. He launched into what tests were done, using a bunch of big medical terms. I understood almost none of it, but held Caleb’s hand and nodded like I knew what the hell he meant. Would it have killed him to have learned some bedside manner along the way?

Finally, Caleb asked, “Can you tell us what the results were, please?”

The doctor slid some papers in front of us. “It does in fact appear that you have a low active sperm count. Low enough that the chances of impregnating someone are quite small. There could be many reasons for this, one being your damaged sperm ducts, however without further, more invasive testing, we can’t be one hundred percent sure why.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands over his crossed legs. “As to why your wife was able to get pregnant, I have a theory on that.”

He stopped talking.

I stared at the doctor, glanced at Caleb who stared at him too, then looked at the doctor again. “And that is?” I asked with a patience I did not have.

“Mrs. Ramsey, I believe you hyper-ovulate.”

I widened my eyes in surprise. “Okay, I know what ovulation is, and hyper means too much, so I ovulate too much?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he answered. “I think that your body drops more eggs than is normal for a female of child bearing age. You already have a set of fraternal twins?”

Caleb and I nodded. “Yes,” we said together, though the doctor knew they weren’t Caleb’s biologically.

“The reason you have fraternal twins is because two different eggs were fertilized, highly common in women who hyper-ovulate. And I believe the reason you were able to get pregnant from your husband who has such a low active sperm count, is because your body drops, like I said, many more eggs than what is considered normal thereby giving the low amount of sperm your husband releases more of a fighting chance, so to speak. It is my assumption that the amount of eggs your body drops is far, far more than normal.”

Caleb sat forward with his elbows on his knees and opened his mouth to say something. I put my hand up to cut him off. “So let me see if I have this correct,” I began. “I drop a lot of eggs so that kind of gave what little active sperm he does have more of a chance to grab an egg and make a baby?”

“Yes, basically, however, it’s more complicated than that.”

“And the chances of it happening again?”

The doctor shrugged. “Who’s to say? If you’d like we could do a full fertility work up on you both. That would tell us a lot more.”

“No,” we said together.

I placed my hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He shook his head, eyes wide. “That about sums it up, I guess.”

Caleb and I continued to stare at each other. Was he thinking what I was thinking? That we really did balance each other out? He has low active sperm; I have high egg droppage. He’s all strong and everything a man should be; I was a frazzled mess half the time who needed his strength and manliness.

He decorates for Christmas, I bake for it.

After assuring the doctor we had no interest in enduring tests ran on us to see how, exactly, I was able to get pregnant, we left. This will be baby number three for us, and Caleb was healthy in every other way, so we didn’t care about the whys of it.

Caleb held me close to his side. The temperature had dipped into the low teens and I shivered, rubbing my hands together for warmth.

He opened the passenger door. As I climbed in, I informed him, “You know, I’m pretty much a superhero.”

“How do you figure?” he asked, then shut my door.

He never spoke it aloud, yet I knew not being able to produce his own offspring ate a hole in him. I think it scared the hell out of him too—being from a large family, he naturally wanted his own. What he didn’t want, I knew, was to talk about how being infertile made him feel.

So of course I used humor to deal with it.

He started the engine. I sat up straight with my hands on my hips, and my chin raised. “Henceforth, I shall be known as Super Ovulation Woman. Able to drop many, many eggs and get impregnated in a single bound, without even trying. What do you think my superhero costume should be?”

“A garter belt and matching bra, hose, and stilettos,” he said without missing a beat.

I choked out a laugh and turned to face him. “You’ve thought about this?”

“I’ve thought about you in a garter belt and matching bra, hose, and stilettos. Not the superhero thing. Although . . .”

Geez, two mentions this month about me wearing slutty lingerie.
Take the hint and make it happen, Molly
.

Valentine’s Day? We’ll see how big I am by then. My first doctor’s appointment for this baby was in two weeks.

“Let me ask you something,” Caleb said. “What would you say to telling my mom about the baby?”

“Clear all the Christmas decorations out this weekend and you’ve got yourself a deal.” He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead, face a blank mask. “You already told her, didn’t you?”

“She guessed.”

“Yeah, right. Seriously, clear that shit out.”

“No, for real. When I asked her to come over when Franny had to leave because you and I had something to do, she asked if you were pregnant and if we were going to the doctor’s. ‘A mother knows,’ she said. Then she asked if you were going to quit the band.”

I sighed. Maybe a mother did know. I hadn’t told anyone, including Caleb, that I considering quitting. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it.” There, said it out loud.

“And she told the rest of the family already because my phone’s been blowing up with texts from everyone telling me congratulations.”

“I think it might be time. I’m getting too old to be in a bar band. Right?” I turned to Caleb.

He glanced at me, then refocused on the road. “You know we wandered into two different conversations here, don’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I didn’t care. “God, I hardly remember what it’s like not being in a band. Getting together for band practice, the bars, making fun of drunk people.”