Everything Unexpected (20 page)

Her words give me cause to smile wider. Curious, I press play on the twenty second audio file. At first, all I can hear is static. But after about five seconds, I make out what I’m supposed to be hearing. Like a drum, beating fast and strong, is a heartbeat. Our child’s heartbeat. I’m so in awe of it, I don’t even realize I’ve sat down on the bed and replayed the clip five times. A tightness forms in my chest, like my heart is being squeezed but expanding at the same time. Listening to that little heart drum, everything that’s happened this week between Leah and me, the silence, the finger pointing, seems so insignificant. That twenty second clip is the best thing that’s happened to me today. No, not just today. Not even this week, or month, or year. It is the best thing that has
ever
happened to me.

I play the recording once more before I find her number and hit
Call.

“Did you get it?” she answers after one ring, not even bothering to say hello.

Between listening to the recording and hearing her voice, a feeling of home sickness I’ve never felt before falls over me. I would give anything right now to be at home with her. “Yeah, I got it. Played it ten times already,” I tell her, laughing.

“I did the same,” she admits. “Doctor said we could have done it a few weeks ago but since I wasn’t an at risk patient, she waited until now.”

My heart skips a beat momentarily at the words
at risk patient
but when Leah continues talking, her voice soothes that fear away.

“She said the baby’s heartbeat is strong. One hundred and sixty beats a minute! Isn’t that crazy? She also said I should start to feel the baby kick soon.”

I let out a long breath, taking in everything being said. She’s speaking so fast, going over all the details of her appointment, it’s too much to take it all in.

“You keep saying ‘the baby.’ Were you able to find out? Boy or girl?” I ask, my heart pounding against my chest with excitement.

“I was…” she starts to say. “But I didn’t.”

My brows furrow together, confused. “You didn’t find out? I thought you wanted to know.”

She waits a few seconds before responding. “I did. I do. But,” I hear her take a deep breath, “it didn’t feel right. Finding out without you there.”

My hand clenches into a fist, gripping the bed sheets under my fingers.

“I guess I wanted to find out with you more than I wanted to find out alone.”

The guilt I feel at not being there is just as strong as the joy I have of her not wanting to find out without me. They’re such opposite feelings and I don’t know which one I should act on. Which is the right one to express.

“I miss you so much,” I tell her, falling back onto the bed. It’s frightening how much. “Comb, this trip has been fucking misery. I hated not being there. Hated not finding out with you. Hated not talking to you. I just…”

What? What am I trying to say?

“
I can’t wait to see you,” I finish.

She doesn’t answer back immediately, causing a small stir of panic to course through my veins. Have I said too much without really saying anything?

“You just miss getting laid,” she says trying to sound lighthearted but failing. She’s masking whatever it is my words did to her with humor, unsure how she should react.

“No,” I say seriously. I mean, yes, I do miss that, but it’s not just the sex I miss. It’s sex with
her
. The feel of
her
skin, the inhales of
her
scent. Just being with her. “It’s more than that.”

There’s another deafening silence that comes from her end. I can picture her twirling her hair around her fingers, biting her lip, trying to figure out what to say.

“More than what?” she asks.

I hear curiosity in her voice, like she’s waiting for
me
to address what’s been going on between us first. It gives me a sense of relief knowing she hasn’t been completely oblivious to what we’ve been doing. That under the façade, she’s feeling something too. Something more than either of us have been able to admit.

Until now.

“Do you miss me, Comb?” I ask, needing to hear the words before I continue.

She releases a long breath before she answers. “It’s disgusting how much.”

I smile into my phone. It’s big and goofy, and I’m absolutely certain I’d be embarrassed at seeing my own reflection, but I don’t care. Right now, all I care about is telling Leah what I’ve known to be true for days. Maybe even weeks.

“I want you, Comb. I want you more than I already have you. I want to be with you every day and every night. And not because we’re having incredible sex, but because I want to be
with
you. Doing nothing. Doing everything. It doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with you.”

“And I hate missing you. I hate watching this
Friends
episode without you.” I take a breath. “Everything is just better when I’m with you.”

I hear her clear her throat, most likely overwhelmed at my confession.

“What episode are you watching?” she asks, her voice cracking, knowing my words have affected her.

I laugh, not even mad she’s not acknowledging my confession. Because the breaking tone in her voice has already said it all. So to appease her, and with my best Ross Gellar impression, I answer her using only one word. “PIVOT!”

Her pitchy voice turns into a full blown laugh. Next to our baby’s heartbeat, it’s the second best thing I’ve heard all day.

“Ross was always my favorite,” she says.

“I know.” I cover my eyes with my forearm. “I’ve missed hearing you laugh this week.”

That comment silences her but I decide to push forward, tell her everything else I miss about her. “I also missed seeing your smile, hearing your snarky comments, the eye roll you give me every time Bryan opens his mouth.” She’s still silent but I know she’s smiling, maybe even biting her lip.

Leah and I crossed one line months ago, not knowing what we were doing. But now I see a new line in front of us. One that could take us somewhere new and different. I want us to cross that line, become something new, something different but for that to happen, I think I need to be the one to take the first step.

“When I get home,” I start, my voice almost growling with promise, “I’m going to make up for all the days I’ve been away. I’m going to show you just how much I’ve missed you. I’m going to remind you over and over just how good I think we can be.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that, Shane,” she says. “That’s something I already know.”

MY ARMS SHAKE under me, my toes furiously trying to keep me rooted in place, but the drops of sweat running down my back and onto my neck are making it hard. My shoulder blades burn, screaming to give up and just fall over already, to give my body the reprieve it’s begging for. And to top it all off, I need to pee. Badly.

“Now we stand in warrior pose,” our instructor tells us, her voice calm and serene, not at all like she’s having as hard of a time balancing as I am. I get into position and let my eyes graze over the room. The other ten women in the class are balancing on their feet easily, arms extended to the side, perfectly straight, not one of them struggling.

I close my eyes, reminding myself it wasn’t too long ago I too had no problems with these poses. My core was strong, legs solid. An hour of balancing and stretching was nothing. But today, I’m fighting an exhaustion that’s almost inhumane. My body won’t cooperate the way it used to, my eyes are pleading for a nap and my bladder has recently become my worst enemy.

Thankfully, we are now moving into a sitting position, a sign that this abusive class is about to end. The deep breaths we’re instructed to take only makes my need to pee even worse. I’m in hell.

“Namaste,” our instructor says, bowing her head.

“Whatever,” I mutter, my voice lost in the others repeating the respectful greeting.

I start to roll up my mat and gather my belongings, shoving them all into my oversized bag.

“That was a great session,” Holly says, rolling up her own mat beside me.

“Where’s the bathroom in this place?” I answer, looking around the room.

“Down the hall, I think,” she cocks her head to the side.

The class empties out and I make a beeline to the bathroom. I don’t think I even close the stall properly before I’m pulling my yoga pants down and squatting. These days, it feels like I spend a lot of my time looking for the closest restroom. If there isn’t one readily accessible, I leave. This is what my life has succumbed to, ensuring I’m in close proximity of a toilet at all times.

When I return to the studio, Holly is speaking with our instructor. I walk up, hoping she’s almost ready to leave because now that I’m empty, I’m starving. I give a quick smile to the instructor before turning my attention over to Holly. “Ready?”

Before she can answer, our instructor turns to me and hands me a brochure, a brilliantly bright smile on her face. “I was just informing Holly about some classes you might be interested in. Prenatal. They’re much more suited for expectant mothers. The movements are less strenuous and you won’t struggle as much. We offer them almost daily!” she states, pointing to the brochure.

I look down at the pamphlet. A woman who looks like she’s about to burst is sitting cross legged with her eyes closed. The words “Prepare. Relax. Breathe” are scrolled across the top.

“Before you know it, that tummy is really going to give you a hard time with some of the poses we do in this class,” she says, laughing.

Laughing!

At me and my apparently oversized tummy.

When I don’t reply, I see her smile begin to falter before it completely disappears. “Just a suggestion,” she adds awkwardly before walking away.

I watch her leave the room before I turn back to Holly. “What the fuck was that?”

Holly’s lips press together in an awful attempt to hide her own laugh.

“Seriously,” I say. “Why would she give me this?”

Holly’s lips lift up to the side, my obvious lack of understanding humorous to her. “Because you
are
pregnant.”

“I know that. But how did
she
know?”

I look down at my stomach. My loose flowing yoga top barely shows anything! I wore it on purpose! How could she have known? When I look back up, Holly is staring at my stomach as well.

“What?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?” I furrow my brows.

Another small smile tugs at the corners of Holly’s lips. “Well, you’ve kind of…popped.”

I blink a few times before answering. “Popped?”

“Yeah.” She nods, waving her hand over my stomach. “You’ve got
the
belly
now.”

I look down at my stomach once more, stretching my shirt over my midsection. I look down at it from all angles, twisting my body in all directions. I mean, I did notice a bit of a change this morning, but I just figured it was some exaggerated bloating. Women don’t just
pop
out of nowhere. There’s a slow build, almost unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it. Right?

I walk over to the mirrors that make up one of the studio walls and stand a foot away. I turn to the side and look, really examine what I see. My stomach, my ass, my boobs. Studying myself like this, looking for the changes, it’s clear two of three are without a doubt, bigger.

Holly walks up beside me, her still slim body looking nearly model perfect next to my growing and expanding one.

“Shit.”

I thought I’d have more time before this baby made itself known to everyone. More time before I’d have to tell my bosses.

“At least your ass still looks good,” she adds, looking down at my butt.

I glare at her through the mirror.

“Come on,” she says, taking my arm and leading me out of the room. “Let’s go feed that belly.”

I SIT BACK in my chair, swallowing my last bite of Belgian waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Not even a crumb is left on the plate.

“At least now my ass will be proportionate to the rest of my body,” I say, licking my fingers, wiping them clean.

Holly laughs while she finishes her egg white omelet with spinach. Only spinach. That used to be my breakfast choice after yoga before I started eating for two. Free-range eggs and organic vegetables. Today, I couldn’t care less if my waffles were from the freezer and the whipped cream from a can. I watch as she finishes off her large cup of coffee, almond milk only, while I sip on steeped grass cuttings. I’d give up waffles for the rest of my life for one giant mug of caffeine.