That Baby (2 page)

She scowls at me. “Do you really thing that’s better? Effing? Are you kidding me? You can’t say that either.”

So I do what any sane person with a hammered finger and a sore toe would do at this point, I become extremely frustrated and throw my hands in the air. “What the fuck am I supposed to say then?”

She glares at me.

“What? I can’t change the way I talk overnight. I also find it very hard to believe you’ve stopped Danny from swearing. He’s the freaking king of the F-bomb!”

“Well, I’m working on that,” she says with a slightly maniacal grin. “See the rubber band?”

I glance over and notice a skinny blue rubber band around Danny’s wrist. “Uh, yeah?”

“Every time he cusses, I snap him, and it hurts.”

“Isn’t that like husband abuse?”

She laughs at me.

“Where’s your rubber band?”

“I don’t need it. I can control myself.” She digs a rubber band out of her pocket and dangles it in front of me.

And I’m like, “No.”

And she’s like, “Yes.”

“This is bullshit, Lori. Sorry, but it is.” I’m gearing up for a big fight, but Danny stands behind her, begging me with his eyes to let her put the rubber band on.
 

And I’ll be damned if I do it. I must be a really good friend.

Later he’s like, “Jay, come help me figure out where you want this . . . blah, blah.”
 

I don’t even hear what he says. He may have said blah blah, but when we are both upstairs he goes, “Thank you for not arguing with her. After the whole bleeding thing, seriously, Jay, no stress for her, okay? I think she gets some wicked little pleasure out of snapping me with the band. Like I’m in the pregnancy boat with her or something. She has had a time with it. Constantly sick and then the spotting that scared us to death. So just try.”
 

“Fine,” I say, hanging my head in defeat.

He gets his Devil Danny grin. “Call her every dirty name in the book if you have to, just do it all in your head.”
 

“Is that how you’re surviving this?”

“Well, that, and I’m being trained.”
 

“Danny, I’m sorry. I love her, but this is bullshit.”

He leans over and snaps the rubber band on my wrist, hard.

“Oww! That hurts!”

He grins at me. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why did you do it?”
 

“Cuz you said bullshit.”

“Oh really? So did you.” I snap him back.

Pretty soon, Danny and I have our rubber bands off and are shooting them at each other, having a rubber band war. I manage to nail his arm just as he’s trying to duck behind the kitchen island.

But then the Fun Nazi comes upstairs. “What the hell are you two doing?”

Danny and I share a smirk.
 

“Um, Lori, do you need a rubber band too?” I giggle.

“No,” she says. “What I need is for you two to grow up.”

Then we all just laugh. This is sort of ridiculous.

After she goes back downstairs, Danny gets the sneaky look again and pulls a little flask from his hoodie pocket.
 

“Oh, you’re bad,” I say.
 

“How do you think I’m surviving this?”
 

We do a shot together.

Lori is downstairs fluffing—whatever that means—my bookshelves.
 

Phillip ran to get us some pizza, since we have zero food in the house.

So instead of Danny helping me maneuver the mattress pad and sheets onto our big new bed, we are back to our rubber band war.
 

Every time he hits me, he makes me do a shot. I’ve gotten hit a couple times, and he’s a good friend and has been drinking with me.

But no food and a few shots is not a good idea.
 

When Phillip gets home with the pizza, I quickly scarf some down.
 

It tasted great, but now I’m feeling a bit nauseous.
 

Next thing I know, I’m throwing it all up, and don’t feel well.

At first, I thought it was from the alcohol, but I’m feeling achy and feverish. I must have the flu.

January 24th

And you’re puking?

Next morning, I eat some cereal and toast, and it’s the same deal. I’m in the bathroom throwing up. While I’m brushing my teeth, I see my birth control pills lying on the counter. I took one before breakfast.
 

Crap, I probably just threw it up.
 

Then I look closer at the pills, and two things come to mind.
 

One:
 
I should have gotten my period a few days ago.
 

And Two:
 
WTF?!

Where the hell is my period?

But I try not to freak.

I know Lori would chew my ass if she heard me thinking this because, yes, I know there are a lot of people who want to get pregnant but can’t. I know they try everything and here I am thinking,
what the hell,
because I am not thrilled with this combination of lateness and puking.
 

And, of course, this is the exact moment that Phillip chooses to walk into the bathroom to check on me.
 

“Are you okay? I thought I heard you throwing up again.”
 

“Yeah, I’m not feeling so great.”

He studies the pill package in my hand and stands frozen for a good thirty seconds.
 

I’m telling you, I can see the wheels turning in his brain.
 

And I don’t think I will like the question that he’s going to ask next.

“Oh my god, are you late? And you’re puking?”

“Just a couple days late, and that’s not unusual.”

Actually, it is unusual. But, come on! I’m stressed. I’ve just gone through some major life changes. Planned a wedding. Designed a building. Packed. Got married. Traveled. It’s happy stress, but it’s still stress. So, it’s natural that my body would freak out like my mind did. I mean, they do work in tandem most of the time.
 

Phillip gets a big grin on his face and pulls me into his arms. “It would be
so awesome
if you’re pregnant. Do you think you could be?”
 

“Phillip, no! It would not be. We’re not ready. We just got back from our honeymoon. What would your parents think?”

He laughs. “My parents got married in August, and Ashley was born in February. Do the math.”

So, I do.
 

I count it out on my fingers. “September, October, November, December, January, February—Phillip, that’s only six months!”

He laughs.

“Your mom was pregnant when they got married!?”

“Ya think?”

“Did she trap your dad into marrying her?”

“I don’t think so. They dated for over two years before they got married.”

I get hit with another wave of nausea.

And I can’t decide what’s making me feel sicker, the thought of being pregnant, the flu, or an actual pregnancy.

It’s got to be the flu.

Please, please, let it be the flu.

And, um, excuse me, while I go puke again.

Phillip is a sweetie, of course, and tells me I should lie back down and try to sleep.
 

But, HA! You really think I’m going to be able to sleep? Now? At a time like this?

My body may be shaking and tired, but my mind is on freaking overdrive.

So, let’s be rational and think this through.

I’m on the pill.
 

I take it every day.
 

I never miss a day.
 

I take it at the same exact time every single day just to be extra cautious.
 

But then I remember that I was on antibiotics for a sinus infection, and I very specifically told that boy we should use a condom.
 

What did he do?
 

He laughed at me and proceeded anyway.
 

And I stupidly didn’t stop him.

I have that thing my parents used to say young people have. That stupid thing in the back of their mind that says, it could never happen to me. It’s just this one time.

But, uh, well, it wasn’t exactly just once, was it?

We were not careful all month like we should’ve been.
 

Why did I listen to him?

Where was my will power?

I’m really, really not ready for a baby.
 

Sure, I want to have kids.
 

I really do, but they are still a someday in my mind.
 

Not the far off someday that they used to be, but in the foreseeable future someday.
 

I can’t wait to have kids with Phillip, but I want it to be the right time. We need to be married for a little while. I have so much on my plate. Phillip’s temporary office space is complete, but construction on the new building will start soon. And we need to get settled in our new house and our new city.

Truth be told, if I couldn’t drink, I might not be able to get through it all.

And, no.

No need to give me the whole alcoholic speech. It’s not like that.
 

But, I admit, there have been days recently where the only thing that has gotten me through is the thought of being able to come home and soak in a hot bubble bath with a glass of wine and some chocolate.
 

I seriously cannot be pregnant right now.
 

Please, God, please, don’t let me be pregnant. And please don’t hold it against me, like in a few years from now, when I want it to happen.
 

Apparently, I exhaust my brain with all this thinking, so it shuts up and goes to sleep.
 

I wake up feeling chilled and feverish.

Not good.

I shuffle into the kitchen and find Phillip unloading a grocery store’s worth of bags. Lori is neatly organizing his purchases in my pantry. She waves at me over the bags piled on the island.
 

“Jade, how are you
feeling
?” she asks with a sing-song, happy-bird-in-the-park quality to her voice as she scurries around, getting me crackers and 7-Up and placing them in front of me with a flourish.

I sit at the bar with my blankie still wrapped around me and bite into a cracker. I’m delighted to discover that it tastes wonderfully salty and good.

“So how is it?” she asks, pointing to my snack.

“It tastes good, thanks.”

“Normal people don’t really like saltines, only pregnant women do.”
 

Shit. She thinks I just passed some litmus test for pregnant women.
 

“I lived on them during my first few months.” Now she’s acting like we’re in some secret saltines club together.
 

And it hits me. Her ultra cheerful voice. Her being so nice. “Phillip! You
told
her?”

He grins and holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. She wanted to know what was wrong with you, and I’m just so excited about what it could be I let it slip that you’re a few days late.”
 

“I am
not pregnant
!”

And I am willing both them and the fertility gods to believe me.
 

Or, wait, would it be the non-fertility gods?

Is there such a thing?

“Please stop this ridiculousness. You’re upsetting me.”

“See, Phillip. I told you.
Mood swings,
” Lori says, acting like she is some kind of pregnancy expert.

“This is
not
a mood swing,” I counter. “This is an I-have-the-flu, feel-like-crap, and-you-keep-going-on-with-all-this-
you’re-pregnant
-bullshit mood.”