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“I’m almost finished here. I’m going back home today.”
“There’s no need to rush, babe. We’re fine here. Do what you gotta do. We’ll be waiting for you.”
“God, I miss you.” I sighed.
“I miss you, too,” Mia butted in.
Izzie snickered at my groan. “We’re leaving the clinic right now. I can’t wait to see you again. We love you.”
“Love you, too.” Then I disconnected the call, fighting the dread growing inside me.
My feet were swollen. I was sweating, despite the crisp weather. I couldn’t be standing up for more than twenty minutes without my back trying to kill me. Preparing contractions were already tormenting me. Yet I was excited. I felt that way every time I saw my Little Bean.
I wouldn’t admit this to Ben; otherwise, he’d feel guilty and blame himself again, but I wanted him with me. That was why I didn’t tell him our boy was still in a breech position, increasing the chances of having a C-section. That fun talk, we’d have in person.
It was the first appointment I attended when he wasn’t with me. Although, it was fun hanging out with Mia. She was my protection, without being a reminder that I needed it.
She was worried about me and my baby, she was always alert, yet she acted with light and breeze. I knew she was keeping her worries to herself, and as selfish as that might sound, I was grateful for that. I was already freaking out about my baby’s arrival, the scary labor, all while knowing there was a madman on the loose with a vendetta against my family. It was refreshing just enjoying my time.
Despite always goofing around, she took my appointment seriously. When we arrived at the clinic, she asked if she could go inside with me. At first, I thought it was because of my security. Maybe it was for that as well. But she wanted to see the baby. It was endearing seeing her keeping her emotions at bay when she met her second nephew.
“Is there anything else you wanna do? I’m your driver for the day, and Benny isn’t around. We can do whatever we want.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“I’d love some ice cream. Can I still call it a craving?”
“Wow, you’re up to no good,” she replied wryly. “Ice cream. Devious,” she whispered in a joke. “I’ll never say no to ice cream. And yes, you can call it a craving. When the baby is born, just say it’s good for the milk. People can’t refute that.”
She helped me get into the car—it was getting harder these days—then rounded the hood to her seat. We left the clinic set on the outskirts of town, on the opposite way to Bryants & Walker.
“Shoot. The entryway is closed.” She furrowed her brows. “That’s weird.” She drove slowly by the barriers. “I can’t see why it’s blocked. We’ll need to round the space. It’ll take a little longer, but I can get a shortcut in a while. Can you wait another ten minutes for your ice cream?”
“I can try.”
“Let’s go. I don’t want your kid being born with an ice cream face.”
“What?”
She glanced at me, then seemed to remember I didn’t normally understand what she said. “Sorry. It’s a Brazilian thing. When a pregnant person has a craving, we need to grant it ASAP. Otherwise, the baby will be born with the face of the thing they craved.”
“That seems...”
“Scientific? I know.” She nodded solemnly.
“So let’s say I’m craving...beets.”
“If you don’t eat it soon, while still pregnant, your baby will be born with a beet face.”
“I was craving Ben’s cock, so—”
“If he can’t dick you soon, you’ll have a problem on your hands. For the sake of Little Bean, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She kept driving as we were joking around, coming up with weird cravings, when we approached a dirty road. Mia tensed as we passed it by, while she kept glancing at the open gate.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She dragged out the word, not convincing either of us. “It’s just this weird feeling.”
I became wary at her statement. I was a firm gut believer. And I trusted Mia’s judgment. If she was uncomfortable, we most likely had good reason to be watchful. She shook her head, dismissing whatever theory was running through it. The energy within the car changed, and we were both observant. For what, I had no idea.
