Everything Unexpected (26 page)

I make it to the bedroom and see her lying there, just as I pictured in the cab. Her hair is scattered all over her pillow and she’s wearing one of my oversized t-shirts. I quickly, but definitely not gracefully, undress and climb in behind her. She begins to stir, alerted someone is in bed with her. If I wasn’t so drunk, I’d probably be angry it took her this long to notice. It makes me realize how much I don’t like her being here alone, unprotected.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “It’s just me.”

She turns, her tired eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice soft and full of sleep.

“I missed you,” I answer honestly.

I feel her relax into my chest once I’m settled in. “Did you have fun?” she asks, yawning.

I kiss her cheek. “I did. You?”

I feel her shrug. “For a while. I can’t stay out like I used to,” she says sadly.

But for some reason it makes me happy. “That’s okay. I’ll stay in with you,” I tell her, inhaling her scent. It only makes my head foggier, making it harder to keep my eyes open.

I feel her shake against me, laughing softly. “Okay,” I hear her say, pleased.

My hand rests against her hip, my fingers feeling bare skin. She’s so soft. I sigh in contentment, knowing my decision to come here instead of going home was the right one. Because this is where I want to be. Every night, with her.

I try telling her this but the words come out jumbled, my brain shutting down faster than the words can escape my mouth. It’s probably for the best. The words I want to say are ones I should speak when looking her in the eye. When the time is right, not when I’m too drunk to properly enunciate them so she can see how serious I am. It’s better I wait. Find the perfect moment to tell her what my heart is already screaming. Because she deserves that. She deserves more than a drunken declaration I won’t remember in the morning.

I LOVE YOU
.

I click through one file, then another, and another. I’ve been searching for where I saved all the work I did earlier this morning for almost an hour. How is it possible that a file I saved not that long ago has vanished?

I love you
.

Frustration boils inside of me. Not only am I irritated I can’t continue on with my work, but this baby will not lay off my bladder. It feels like I have a water balloon floating around inside, expanding, threatening to burst every three minutes. All that pressure just to have a few drips come out.

I love you
.

And my breasts are on fire today. I can’t stop pulling at my bra, scratching, rubbing. If anyone were to come in and see how much I’m playing with my chest, they’d have quite the show. What I need are two bags of frozen peas. I saw Snooki rest them on top of her breasts when she was pregnant. And obviously, anything Snooki does…

I love you
.

I scratch at my stomach, another annoying symptom that doesn’t want to seem to want to go away. It’s a non-stop reminder my skin is stretching, expanding, growing much more than I’m okay with.

I love you.

I’m tired all the time, but have trouble sleeping. I can’t keep my eyes open past eight p.m., but toss and turn all night. Even that stupid body pillow Shane bought me does nothing to help support the giant mass my once toned, flat stomach has become.

Shane
.

Usually I can count on him to make me feel better. But not today. Today the sheer mention of his name adds to my growing irritation.

I love you
.

It’s been two days and two nights since I heard him mumble those three little words as he fell asleep. Two days and two nights since those three little words have been on repeat inside my head, since he’s had the nerve to act like he never said them at all. But he did and I heard them, loud and clear. Okay, maybe quiet and mumbled, but I heard them nonetheless. And now he has the audacity to act like it never happened? Pretend like he doesn’t remember saying them? People don’t just say those kind of things and not remember them. Not mean them. Right?

I spent the rest of the night preparing myself to hear him say them to me again in the morning, ready with my reply. I even got up first, and spent ten minutes playing with my hair so it looked like I did nothing to it at all, brushing my teeth, applying lip gloss before carefully getting back into bed, waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for him to see me looking like one of those models he takes pictures of.

I did all of that for him!

And what did he do?

He woke up, made no mention of how angelic I looked and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he yelled he was going to use my toothbrush.
My
toothbrush. He walked out of the bathroom, smiled at me and said he was going to go make himself some coffee. No mention, no hint, no nothing. How can someone say “I love you” then ignore it?

Is he embarrassed? Does he feel bad he let it slip out that way? Is he worried maybe I don’t feel the same? He must know. How can he not?

I swallow back the large lump in my throat.

What if he
didn’t
mean it? What if he does remember saying it and feels awful for even putting it out there? A drunken misuse of words? Two people who only ended up dating due to interesting and unexpected circumstances. Two people who care for each other as best friends, who are having a baby together, but that’s all.

But he came to my place that night. He told me he missed me. He told me he was where he wanted to be. Argh!

Two days and two nights.

Does he love me or not? Where the hell is a daisy when you need one?

I bring my hands to my face, rubbing it in frustration.

My eyes begin to burn. I blink away the tears, refusing to have a meltdown at work. I’m a professional. I can get through this day and figure out my personal shit later. I know I can. I am woman, hear my pregnant roar.

Two seconds later, I break out into a sob.

God, this day sucks.

“Leah, you still haven’t sent me those files,” Holly says, walking straight into my office without knocking.

“I know,” I answer between whimpers. “I can’t find the stupid thing!”

Holly sees my tears and quickly shuts the door, coming to my side and wrapping me in a hug. “Don’t worry. We’ll find it,” she says laughing.

I don’t bother correcting her. I let her think my tears are about the stupid Bakker file. Last week, I had no choice but to ask her for help. I couldn’t keep up with all the crosschecking and document review. These were my responsibilities as assistant chair but with the growing frequency of doctor’s appointments, my inability to get a good night’s sleep and my constant state of uncomfortableness, I was in over my head.

“I’ll find it. Just give me a minute,” I tell her, wiping my eyes.

“Are you alright?” she asks, walking over to one of the empty chairs.

I look up from my screen and nod. “I’m just tired. And hungry. Once I get some lunch I’ll feel better.”

“Once you get it?” she questions.

I look up from my screen then follow to where Holly’s eyes have shifted.

Sitting on the corner of my desk is my lunch already spread out. A small chicken wrap filled with veggies sits on a napkin, a cup of yogurt with a plastic spoon sticking out of it and an apple cut up already half eaten.

“God, I’m a disaster.”

“No,” Holly says in her most reassuring voice. “You’re pregnant.”

“Forgetfulness and stupidity comes right along with it, it seems,” I say, grabbing an apple slice and shoving the whole thing in my mouth.

Holly laughs. “You just need some rest. That’s all,” she says, taking an apple slice for herself.

“Speaking of needing rest,” she says between bites. “How did Shane feel after boy’s night out? All Eddy could do when he got home was insist on taking a shower. Which only means one thing…strippers.”

I really don’t want to talk about Shane. I fear the emotional breakdown that could ensue. “He seemed fine,” I state, not divulging any more.

Holly smiles. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you that night.”

I smile, but it’s tight, making me fully aware of just how much effort I need to put into it.

“Maybe we should be looking for a dress for you tonight,” she says with a smirk. “The song starts with falling in love, then marriage, then the baby in the baby carriage. But since you two already screwed that up…”

I stare at her blankly.

“You didn’t forget, did you? Tonight? The final dress fittings.”

I blink several times before glancing down at my calendar and seeing a star marked in red pen next to today’s date. The words
potato
sack
written right beside. “Of course not. It’s written right here,” I say pointing to my calendar. I absolutely forgot.

“Good.” She smiles, standing up. “I’ll meet you there,” she says walking out of my office. “And send me those files when you find them.”

I sit back in my chair, Holly’s words replaying in my head. That stupid childhood song on repeat.

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage
.

Shane and I didn’t have love first. Marriage? Are you kidding me? The only thing we do have is a baby coming in a baby carriage. And that’s not even all true. We haven’t bought a carriage yet! Shane and I have done nothing right. We still haven’t even discussed what we are going to do after the baby arrives. I’ve been ignoring the fact I have piles of baby clothes and diapers littered all over my apartment and that the baby’s crib still lies unassembled in a box at Shane’s place. I wanted so badly not to fail at this and so far, we haven’t done anything to help us succeed.

I thought having a baby with Shane was the easiest part of this whole situation. The one thing I could hold on to. Knowing we were in this together and we’d help each other find our way. But if that were true, why do I feel so lost?

I GAVE UP knocking on Shane’s door a while ago, taking a page out of Holly’s book and letting myself into the loft anytime I come over. Tonight is no different. I walk straight in, breezing past Bryan sitting on the couch and head directly for Shane’s room. If I thought today was bad, tonight really put the icing on the cake.

I find Shane on his bed, back against the headboard, one jean-clad leg crossed over the other, his red shirt stretched over his chest. In his hands, he’s holding a book.
What To Expect When You’re Expecting.
And by the looks of it, he’s almost finished the damn thing. I’ve hardly begun reading it. It’s just another item to put in the
Failing
column. He looks up, folding the corner of the page over and closes the book.

“Hey,” he says, his voice expressing surprise at seeing me here.

My eyes stay focused on the book. “You’re almost finished?”

He flips the book over, looking at the cover. “I figured one of us should know what the hell is going to happen,” he says, teasing.

I walk closer to the bed, standing in front of him as he moves his legs over to the edge of the mattress. When he looks up at me, his expression changes. Concern fills his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his hands molding into the sides of my legs.

“I’m going to be a terrible mother,” I say, tears falling down my face.

“What? Where did that come from?” he says, rubbing my thighs.

“I’m on chapter four of that book, Shane. Four! I’m reading about stuff that happened to me six months ago. I should be learning about feedings and burping. Schedules. Instead I’m learning about morning sickness.”

“Hey, stop that,” he says. “You’re going to be a great mom. Perfect, even. I know it.”

What if I’m not? I may be coming closer and closer to the end of my pregnancy, but really, it’s just the beginning. After this, there will be an actual baby to take care. To feed, bathe, to nourish. What if I can’t do it? I’m already finding everything so overwhelming and the baby isn’t even here yet.

“No such thing as perfect,” I say, roughly wiping tears off my cheek.

“You are,” he says with a smile.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s this?” I challenge, hastily lifting the corner of my shirt up, exposing some of my skin and pointing to the corner of my hip. “Look!” I dare him.