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“Does she know?”
“No.”
She gives me a pointed look. “Tell her. You and I, we know loss. We know more than most that you don’t keep that sort of thing a secret. Tell her so she knows before you’re too late.” Without giving me a chance to respond, she trudges through the slushy walkway to her car.
Steeling myself for what I’ll find inside, I savor the freezing breath that fills my lungs and tilt my gaze to the cloudy, gray sky.
She’s right. I know she’s right, but there isn’t a good time to announce such a thing. Not only are Kiersten’s emotions all over the place due to hormones but they’re also out of whack from being stranded at home for days at a time. I can’t fathom what it’s like to feel well and capable, yet unable to leave the house, let alone the bed.
I’m glad my mom’s stepping out to the store because I’m empty-handed. The fastest way to end an argument with Kiersten is through food, and that would have been my first line of defense had I known things were tense here.
Before I go inside, I also rein in the part of me that wants to be mad at her for leaving my house. I wonder how she’ll take to the idea of me staying here for a while. If I had it my way, I’d already be moved in with a for sale sign in my damn yard. Or hers. I’m not picky when it comes to this.
The front door opens with an aged squeak as I step inside, and I pull out my phone to add WD-40 to my to-do list. The aroma of lemon furniture polish permeates the air. I toe off my boots by the door, noticing the kitchen and living room are sparkly clean b
ut empty. Kiersten isn’t up and about, and that concerns me. I know she needs to be resting, but I thought with company over she’d at least camp out on the couch, even if that meant giving my mother the silent treatment to tolerate being in the same room.
After pushing my boots aside, I set off down the hall in search of her. I need to check her pulse with my mom being over this afternoon. I’m more than willing to kick Mom out, though I figure Kiersten would be capable of doing that herself if that’s what she wanted.
Her bedroom door is closed, a strong indication she’s inside and hiding out. I tell myself to leave her be, to respect her privacy, but then I remember she’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. There’s about a zero percent chance she’d come tell me what was wrong without a little prying.
I tell myself I’m only opening her door for a quick check because my knock is ignored. I don’t even need to go inside.
And as my silent feet carry me to her bed, I tell myself it’s because her back faces the door, and I can’t see her face to see if she’s asleep or angry with me.
The urge is strong to sweep away the hair covering her cheek. I tuck my hands into my pockets instead as I stand above her sleeping form. She’s surrounded by pillows at every angle, and a soft snore escapes with every other breath.
If it wasn’t creepy, I’d take a picture. With her belly swollen with my child, I can’t tell if she’s more beautiful asleep like this or with her head thrown back laughing.
It’s a toss-up.
I allow myself one last longing glance and tamp down the desperate part that wants to climb into bed and spoon her.
Then I exit her bedroom. But not before reaching down to touch the silver ring on her right ring finger.
I have work to do.
24
Kiersten
Disoriented in a moonlit room, I wake sometime hours later. My belly rolls beneath my tee shirt as my little man stretches and somersaults within the confines of my uterus. Lying back against a wedge pillow Cami gave me at my baby shower, I place a hand atop my rippling belly and allow the contentedness to wash over me.
Two months or less until my baby is earth side, and I can hold him in my arms for the first time. A trickle of irrational thoughts creeps in. I imagine it’ll feel strange not to have him warm and protected in my belly at first, and I’ll have to adjust to all the scary things that could happen to him. Like wearing my most life-giving organ on the outside of my body. We have ribs to protect our hearts and skulls to protect our brains, but we’re supposed to give birth to babies, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to all the harsh realities of life, rather than protected by flesh and muscle and bone.
How do parents do it? How do they adjust to loving someone so much you’d give anything to keep it safe but walk around with the knowledge that there are some things you can’t protect them from?
And when does that acceptance kick in? Because he’s not even born yet, and I’m already struggling.
I let my heart warm at the kicks and flips as I listen to the deafening silence from beyond my bedroom door. By the darkness permeating my bedroom, it’s safe to assume Regina took her unapologetic ass home. What surprises me is my phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook with calls from my baby daddy and friends. Either he got the message of me sneaking home and is giving me space, or he’s hiding out in my living room and giving me space.
If I didn’t love having him around so much, I’d seriously consider moving my spare key. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a little thrill whenever he bursts down my front door like a hot, well-kempt caveman.
My immature side wants to lie here for the rest of the night and ignore anyone else who exists, but my bladder screams for relief. Something I can’t ignore since becoming pregnant.
I roll to my side and lower my legs from the bed, and prop my torso up with my elbow. The fact that my bones don’t creak and rattle when I move shocks me because I feel ancient at this stage. I exit the bedroom to a faint lit hallway and stop short beneath the doorframe.
A dim, yellow hue glows from my guest bedroom across the hall from mine. I’m baffled because I never go in there, but also because all my bulbs are white daylight and not soft glowing.
