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“Well, no. The bus drove off. But the sushi cart across the street had the plastic wrap and—Derek, put me down!”
I don’t listen. She’s so tiny, so frail, too frail for being as pregnant as she is. She’s fifteen weeks now. And a person this pregnant should be… well, more. I open the door and carry her inside.
“Megsy! Is that you?” Ainsley calls from the back bedroom as I carry Megan through the living room and the dining room.
“Hey Ains!”
“Your baby daddy stopped by! You should—oh, this is a thing that is happening?” Ainsley walks out of the back hallway as I set Megan on the small bit of empty counter in the kitchen.
“Do you have a first aid kit?”
Megan’s eyes flicker to Ainsley behind me. I’m no expert, but I’m fairly certain they’re doing some sort of woman-spidey-sense thing.
“I think Faye left one in the bathroom,” Megan says.
“I’m on it,” Ainsley says.
“Stay here,” I say, my tone brokering no argument. I don’t mean to be so curt with her, but I can’t seem to calm down. I go back out to the front porch and collect the groceries and my roller bag, since apparently it’s normal for vagrants to hang out on their front porch. In the kitchen, Ainsley and Megan are examining a large black canvas case.
“How many types of Band-Aids does one need?” Ainsley asks, studying a butterfly bandage.
“Let me see,” I say quickly, taking the case from Ainsley with a little too much force. Several bandages flutter out of the kit to the floor.
“Derek,” Megan says, her voice too calm, too quiet. I shake my head and look for what I need. I unwrap the ridiculous plastic wrap from her knee and then slowly, gently remove the shitty paper towel.
“What were you thinking?” I hiss.
“Megs?” Ainsley says, her voice a little sharper.
“It’s okay, Ains,” Megan says. “Can you give us a minute?”
“I’ll be in my room with the doorwide openif you needanything,” she says before leaving.
I tug on a stuck bit of paper towel and Megan hisses.
“I was thinking I should try to stop the bleeding.”
“I mean the bus. What the hell were you thinking? Why would you ride the bus if you didn’t have to?”
“I needed groceries,” she says softly as I remove the last of the paper towel. The gash is worse than I expected. It’s a cut that’s a solid two inches long, just under her kneecap, with what looks like road rash around it. It’s already bruising, and it’s still bleeding. I shake my head as I apply disinfectant to a bit of gauze. I dab it at the slash and she recoils.
“Next time, order delivery. I’ll pay the extra fee. You shouldn’t be carrying heavy bags in your condition.”
“In mycondition?” She chuckles. “I’m fine, Derek.”
“You think this is fine?” I snap. “It’s not. I think this looks like you rode a filthy city bus and then you got groceries and tried to haul too much home and nearly wiped out on a city street and took second-hand food supplies to wrap yourself back together and limp home. I mean, what if you’d fallen differently? Wait, howdidyou fall?”
I look up at her and reach for her shirt to check her belly. She recoils, blocking my hands.
“I landed on the curb, on my knee. My knee took the force of it. I’m fine otherwise. I can’t stop living just because I’m carrying your baby.”
“You need to be more careful,” I say, dabbing more alcohol against her scrape.
She hisses again, but I don’t stop. It just needs to be cleaned. It’s still dirty and I can’t let it get infected. If I can just clean it well enough…
“You can’t think about just yourself. You can’t be so selfish anymore. I mean,JesusMegan, what were you thinking?”
I apply some fresh gauze and tape it up like I would one of my players. Then I throw the filthy supplies in the trash with a little too much force and nearly knock the whole can over. I dig through the freezer and find nothing but empty ice cube trays.
