“As if I could ever forget.” I snort out a chuckle. “That sucked.”
But then I stop chuckling.
And everything inside me freezes—going as stone-cold as my poor chilly nipples. Because I did forget—what it felt like to be pregnant. The early signs.
It’s like God gives women amnesia about the really shitty parts of child-bearing, so we won’t mind doing it again and again. But now, in this kitchen—it’s like a horrible lightning bolt of epiphany has struck me. Like the blinders have fallen away.
And I remember all the early symptoms. The soul-deep exhaustion, the heavy, sluggish, bloated feeling, the nausea . . . the painful, aching breasts.
Everything I’ve been experiencing for the last three weeks.
I chalked it up to the excitement and stress of starting the show, the move—but there’s something else. Something else I totally forgot.
“Oh, no.”
I start counting backward in my head. The days, the weeks, not retracing my steps . . . but my menstrual cycle. And I feel the color drain from my face.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.”
“Are you gonna puke?” Jack takes a few steps back—out of the potential splash-zone. “Is she gonna puke, Er?”
A—yes, I’m definitely gonna puke.
And B—
“Lainey, what is it?”
I look into Erin’s eyes, the “B” spilling from my lips in hushed, shocked words.
“I need to take a pregnancy test.”
Chapter Four
Lainey
“Why does this keep happening to me?!”
Three positive pregnancy tests later—we’re all in the kitchen, with all of my sisters fully updated on the latest unexpected, development. My parents are still clueless and supervising the grandchildren down on the dock.
I’m pregnant. Knocked up. In the family way. Unplanned. Again.
No matter how many times or how many different ways I say it to myself—I still can’t make it make sense. When I first found out I was pregnant with Jason, the overwhelming feeling was fear—fear of what I was going to do, what my parents would say, fear of the unknown.
This time around I’m older—though wiser is still up for debate.
And I’m just utterly . . . flabbergasted. Flabbergasted is a really good word.
“We used condoms! We used a whole box of condoms!”
“Wow.” Judith smirks. “The drummer-boy really brought it, huh?”
Brooke twists her pearls. “Not the time, Judith.”
Jason’s father was my first—my first serious boyfriend, my first everything. We used condoms too, though a bit fumblingly. And by the third or fourth time we’d had sex—boom, I was pregnant.
“Was there any P and V slip and slide action going on?” Erin asks me.
“No! There was no P and V contact without latex, at all.”
I stare at my laptop screen, searching for an answer that will make this make sense. Because that’s what you do when you’re flabbergasted—you Google.
“Are my vaginal secretions acidic or something? Do they just eat through the condom?”
“That would be cool.” Linda grins. “Like a Sigourney Weaver kind of Aliens vagina. I’m gonna use that.” She writes it down on a sticky note.
And I think I might be hyperventilating.
“Do you think it was a stealthing?” my brother-in-law Ronaldo asks.
“What’s stealthing?” Brooke asks.
“It’s when a guy slips off the condom for the big finish without the girl knowing.”
“Ew. That’s a thing?” Brooke asks.
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with men?” Judith asks.
“That’s why I’m a lesbian,” Linda announces. “You should all try it. No offense to the penises in the room, but pussy is where it’s at.”
Jack points at Linda. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Brooke gapes at Linda. “Your wife had an affair with your marriage counselor.”
“Well, Genevieve happens to be lesbian who’s also an asshole,” Linda explains. “We’re gay, not perfect.”
I shake my head. “He didn’t stealth. He wasn’t like that. I watched him take the condoms off. And put them on for that matter—the way he ripped open the foil package with his teeth was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Well, there you go!” Judith throws up her hands. “Opening condoms with your teeth makes them, on average, 30% less effective.”
This seems to be new information to everyone one in the room.
“Really?” Brooke asks.
“Oh, boy,” Erin groans.
“Maybe you should take one of those pregnancy tests,” Jack says hopefully. “If I put a bun in your oven—you’ll have to marry me.”
Erin smacks his arm. “Focus, Jack. We’re in the middle of a Defcon 1 level Burrows-breakdown here.”
That’s when my mother walks into the kitchen. And we all go still and silent—it’s a reflex.
She smiles sweetly. “What’s going on?”
In benign, synchronized voices that can only be achieved through years of practice, we all respond, “Nothing.”
She aims that probing Mom-gaze at each of us. Erin steps forward, acting as the shield.
“We’re talking about Christmas presents, Mom. For you and Dad.”
“Hmm.” She nods, reaching for the child-friendly lemonade. “All right.”
She turns toward the door, still suspicious—but at this point, I think my mom has learned sometimes it’s better not to know.
Once she’s out the door, Brooke shakes her head. “Dad’s gonna lose it. This time he’s gonna stroke out—definitely.”
My dad’s old-school. A believer in getting an education, getting married and having kids—in that order. Still, when I dropped out of college to have Jason, he handled it well—even though I could tell at the time he was disappointed in me. And he loves Jason with his whole heart—he couldn’t be prouder that he’s his grandson.
But now, I’m worried about letting him down all over again. That he’ll view this as a mistake, a failure—his failure as a dad.
“Hold the cell-phone, everyone,” Judith says. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the panic gun a little bit here? I mean, it’s not like you have to stay pregnant. They make a pill for that now, you know.”
Brooke makes the sign of the cross. She teaches CCD at their local church. Like I said—couldn’t be more different if we tried.
But Judith does have point. I’m a free-thinking, independent woman—and now really is not a good time for me to have another child. It’s pretty much the worst time ever.
But then . . .
I hear a laugh from outside. And it’s the best laugh—the best sound in the whole world. I move to the window and look out, watching him—my son, my heart, my little bird, my sweet boy. It wasn’t easy when I had him—but it was still the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never regretted it—him—not for a second. And however difficult it will be now at thirty-four—it’ll have to be easier than it was at nineteen.
How can I . . . how can I know that and not have this baby too?
It’s just that simple, and just that hard.
I don’t have to analyze it—in those few, quick seconds my mind is made up.
I’m having this baby.
I feel my sisters’ eyes on me. And I know they see it on my face—the decision is already made.
Linda blows out a big breath. “Who’s gonna tell Dad?”
Brooke holds up her hand. “I told him last time. Judith—you’re up.”
“Great.” Judith moves to the adult vodka and lemonade and takes a big gulp—straight from the pitcher.
“Easy, cowgirl,” Linda says.
Judith wipes her sleeve across her mouth.
“I’m drinking for two—for me and Lainey.”
Yeah. She’s got a point there.
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~ ~ ~
The next morning, I push back the work I’d planned to do on the house and make an emergency appointment with Dr. Werner, my OBGYN in Bayonne. After an exam and a pee-in-a-cup test, she confirms that I am, indeed, preggers—about eight weeks along. Then she has me lay back on the table for an abdominal ultrasound.
I watch the screen, the familiar gray blobby shadows—but then I see it—right before the doctor points it out. That steady, rapid, rhythmic fluttering, like visual Morse Code that says, Hi—how are you? Here I am.