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“Do you think, at her late stage in pregnancy, it would be wise for Aoife to travel four hours to visit you? Do you think it would be good for her emotionally to have so little time with you, and then have to leave again?”
My heart gunned in my chest.
No, I didn’t think that.
“Then just let me phone her.”
“Joey—”
“Please,” I bit out. “I will do whatever the fuck you want. I’ll talk about all the shit. I’ll deal with Darren. Just let me have one phone call with my girl. Please, Doc. I don’t do begging, but I’ll do it for her.”
126
Out of the Blue
AOIFE
I was halfway through my shift at work, sweltering in the early August heat and feeling like I had hooves for feet, when my boss stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Aoife,” he said, taking the tray I was attempting to carry into the kitchen out of my hands. “How are ya, love?”
“Fine,” I replied, instantly suspicious. “How are you, Garry?”
“To be honest, I’m a bit concerned about you, love.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Red-faced, he gestured to my stomach and shrugged. “I’m just thinking that it might be time you consider taking it easy, pet. You look exhausted. Absolutely dead on your feet.”
Ha.
No fucking way was he getting rid of me that easily. If I left early, it could mess with my maternity leave. He might not take me back afterward. I had too much to lose. I had a baby to raise, dammit.
“I’m not due for another eight weeks,” I reminded him. “I don’t plan on starting my maternity leave for another six weeks, Garry. You know this. We agreed on it.”
“I know what we agreed, but aren’t you tired, love?”
I’m beyond tired. “I’m happy to work.”
“I don’t want you carrying heavy trays back and forth to the kitchen anymore.”
“Then put me behind the bar,” I argued. “Or doing the pot wash in the kitchen. Whatever. I don’t care. But I need to work, Gar. I need the money.”
“And you’re a great little worker,” he tried to fob me off by saying. “We’re lucky to have you.”
“Then let me get back to work,” I said, snatching my tray back and stepping around him. “Because I have another six weeks of work left, and I plan on showing up for every shift.”
______________________
“Look at the size of you.” Paul whistled when I came to take his order a little while later. He was sitting alone in a booth, and that pissed me off no end because he could have easily taken a spot at the bar and leave the space for larger groups. “Jesus, I’ve seen women having triplets with smaller bumps.”
“Hello to you, too, Paul,” I drawled, not taking one word of it to heart. Not when it was true. My bump was huge. I’d heard just about every joke, snide comment, and surprised gasp in the book.
The baby was measuring so big that I had been tested four times for gestational diabetes. The results came back negative every single time. Apparently, I was just growing a baby sumo wrestler.
Even Mam had warned me off buying anything in the newborn size, advising that 0–3 months was a better choice for the little whopper.
Yeah, that wasn’t terrifying at all.
