The waiting room’s hushed quiet had me on edge, scent of chemical cleaner and heavy air making me squirm. Or maybe that was the pressure on my bladder the nugget kept shifting just when I thought I had a comfortable position? Crew looked up from the magazine he was pretending to read, blue eyes locking on mine, concern showing. As adorable as it was that he worried, I was getting a little tired of his constant monitoring.
“I’m fine,” I whispered despite the fact there wasn’t any reason to, the few others waiting while the receptionist behind the desk spoke quietly into the phone hardly reason to keep my voice down. What was it about hospitals and doctor’s offices that always had me lowering my volume?
He nodded, gaze falling to the swell of my belly where both of my hands had settled, a faint smile pulling at his full mouth, handsome face lighting up as it always did when he looked at me. Well, at the bambino, at least. I shifted again, one hip aching slightly, my need to run to the washroom prodding me, though I wasn’t willing to give in to it just yet, thanks, since I’d already been twice at home and stopped on my waddling way here. My attempt to ease the dull throb in my hip only managed to twinge the spot in my lower back that kept me up last night.
Anyone who said being pregnant was a cakewalk was asking for a punch in the face. And the next person who told me I was glowing?
Just test me.
The fact I still had two months to go before the critter I was creating came out? Horrified me when I let myself think about it. I glanced sideways at the young woman down the row, her own protruding belly softly rounded and graceful only making me grit my teeth in frustration. She made pregnancy look delicate, adorable. My physique leaned toward the ponderously bovine, thank you, with a dash of the pachydermically challenged thrown in for good measure.
I wasn’t going to make it to December.
The cupcake shifted around inside me, what felt like a foot or fist pressing into my resting palm. In that instant, all of my complaining went away as I reached for Crew’s hand and settled it over the protruding bump. Just in time, too, because his eyes lit up as MiniFee carried on their wombnastics in a stretching and energetic rollover that had me breathless and thinking of movies about aliens.
Crew beamed at me, leaning in to kiss my cheek while the pumpkin seed settled again. I smiled in return, the emotional overwash of joy mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety triggering tears and a thickening in my throat. He left his hand where it was despite the sausage’s return to a more sedate state, his touch comforting and a reminder of why I was doing this in the first place.
He’d been good to his word when he promised me that he was coming home to support me. July, August and September had passed with my husband in our local office, taking over my field work while the rest of the team filled in the gap his return to Reading had left. And while I’d volunteered to retreat from field work for the duration of my pregnancy, I have to admit my days spent researching for the others were weighing on me as much as the kidlet in my tummy.
Speaking of which, my phone hummed, the text from my bestie, Daisy Bruce, only triggering my emotional state all over again. Thanks for the info on the tax company, she sent. Nelson’s delighted to have leverage against them. It hadn’t been all that hard to uncover some serious allegations against the accountants he’d been considering shifting some of his business to, so her praise felt flat despite the fact she meant it one hundred percent, like always. You’re the best. Hope your ultrasound is awesome! Send pix!
I sighed as I set my phone on my lap and did my best not to feel bitter. Because Crew’s return had signaled another big change. I’d lost my best friend to the Montpelier office and then to Miami as my very own Daisy was poached utterly and completely by none other than Nelson Delamonte.
Not that I begrudged her that success. Day deserved to find her happiness, had been through enough, thank you, only to finally be hitting her own stride. I was proud of her, of course, I was. But I was also pregnant and my best friend and sister from another mister wasn’t here.
My protruding peach wasn’t going to be the only crybaby in the family.
“Ms. Fleming? Mr. Turner?” I immediately looked up at my name being called, Crew standing and taking my hand, helping me to my feet. Honestly, did every pregnant woman feel this awkward? My center of gravity would never be the same, I was sure of it. I puffed a little as I steadied myself and frowned at the pain that shot down my right leg as my lower back tweaked again but did my best not to show it. I’d learned that complaining made Crew overly protective and I just wasn’t in the mood for him treating me like I might fall apart at any second.
Even though I worried that might be the case.
“I’m so sorry,” the receptionist told us as we joined her at the counter, a cute little pumpkin cutout grinning up at me, her pencil holder a waving scarecrow. There were still several weeks to Halloween, but even the staff in this rather serious place made an effort. “The ultrasound technician had a family emergency and had to leave. Dr. Aberstock will make you a new appointment, hopefully in the next few days.”
“No problem.” Crew turned to me, one hand holding mine, the other at the small of my back. “Ready to go?”
I nodded, offering a little grimace smile to the woman, allowing my husband to guide me, feeling more and more like a giant cargo ship being nudged by a tugboat and trying not to be cranky about the cancelation. After all, we’d just had a scan due to my age and Dr. Aberstock’s protectiveness. And yes, I admit my grumpy demeanor about being back a week later for another wasn’t solely based on being put out. No, it was the fact that Dr. Aberstock wanted another one so soon that had my mind whispering worries to me about what he’d seen—or not seen—in the previous one that had me disguising terror something was wrong with temper.
We reached the elevator, Crew tapping the button down, when my phone buzzed and, distracted, I checked it without looking at the number. Only to flinch as I read the nasty words scrawled across my screen.
Something’s wrong with the baby, my secret tormentor sent. And it’s your fault.
***