Chapter 30 – Monica
I’m setting up the nursery when my cell phone rings and an unknown number— just a string of a bunch of random numbers, really— appears across the screen. My heart skips a beat. This is the same way it looked the other couple of times that Ramsey called me.
I had just framed the one picture I have of Ramsey and me— a selfie on the beach, which we took with my cell phone— and had decided where to hang it. I imagined myself telling the baby about his dad one day. Except that I haven’t exactly thought that far ahead yet, to figure out what I should say, or when, or how the baby-turned-child might react.
“Hello?” I say, my palm feeling sweaty on the phone.
“Monica,” Ramsey says. “It’s Ramsey.”
“Hi!”
“Hello.”
It feels so nice to hear from him, but he sounds distant. Not just physically—geographically, which of course he is— but also emotionally. Maybe he’s just bummed. Or maybe he’s not as happy to be talking with me as I am to be talking with him.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he snaps. “Of course I’m okay.”
His tone suggests that he wants to add, “I’m calling you, aren’t I?,” but he doesn’t. And I want to say, “You are at war, you know?,” but I don’t.
It’s strange that so many things remain unsaid between us, after those times we spent talking so late into the night, or over dinner, or while walking on the beach. I’m beginning to wonder if any of it was even real, and if it even meant anything… other than the creation of the baby, of course, which certainly wasn’t planned, and which Ramsey doesn’t even know about.
I think about telling him right now, but it sure sounds as if he’s depressed or something. I don’t want to burden him if it would make things worse instead of better.
“I’m glad to hear from you,” I tell him. “How are things?”
“They’re fine. We just arrived at a stable base where we will probably stay throughout the end of our deployment. Just doing local training, at this point.”
“Oh good.”
I feel relieved, knowing that it means the dangerous part of their mission is over.
“Of course there’s no phone number that rings through here, but I have an address for you, if you want it.”
“Sure,” I say, taking out the first writing utensil I can find— a marker that’s part of a kids’ toy that Becky wanted to share with the baby. I also pull out some labels I’ve been using to organize the bins of clothes by month.
He tells me the address, and I write it down, excited that he’s giving it to me. I figure that has to mean something. Maybe he’s in a better mood than I thought he was. Maybe he is calling because he misses me. Maybe I should tell him about the baby.
“I’m sure that being over there is kind of hard sometimes,” I say, trying to test the waters. “But I just worry that your…”
I hesitate, knowing I shouldn’t say “PTSD” on the phone.
“…that you might be depressed,” I finished.
“I’m not depressed,” he snaps.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean depressed. More like, stressed, or anxious…”
“Of course I’m stressed,” he says. “I worry about my mom. I worry about the safety of my unit, including Harlow. But you tell me not to worry about other people, and only worry about myself. So I’m sure you don’t want to hear about why I might be stressed.”
“Yes I do,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean…”
I trail off. There’s no use. I should not have started down this trail.
“Well, how are you?” He asks. “What have you been up to?”
“Uhhhh. Nothing.”
I squirm in the rocking chair, looking at the framed picture of us that I had just hung in our baby’s room. The baby he doesn’t know about. He doesn’t know about anything that’s going on with me, and I’m not sure if I should tell him, or how. It doesn’t leave me much to talk about.
“Are you seeing someone?” he asks suddenly, his tone sounding angry, or annoyed.
“What?”
“I’m just wondering. If you’ve been seeing someone else.”
“No,” I tell him, even though now I’m annoyed.
“I know it’s none of my business,” he says.
“You’re right.”
How dare he want to know if I’m seeing someone, after he told me he didn’t want a relationship? After he laughed at the thought of letting his family know we had anything to do with each other? The nerve!
“Why are you being so weird?” I ask him. Realizing that could sound really bad, I clarify. “So… cranky?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, as if I should know. “No reason, I guess.”
“Okay.”
There’s an awkward silence and then he says, “Well, others are waiting to use the phone…”
“Of course,” I say. “Thank you for calling.”
I want to ask when he can call again, but I don’t think the question will make him too happy. And if the next call is like this one, I’m not sure there’s any point.
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“Stay safe. Goodbye.”
After I hang up, I think of all the things I wish I could have said.
I miss you.
I’m thinking about you.
I’m having your baby.
I love you.
But that call didn’t go the way I thought it would. Nothing between Ramsey and me has gone well since that last day at my house, right before he left.
I look down at my stomach, which is finally starting to protrude a little bit. I rub my just appearing baby bump and say, “I love you, baby boy.”
Perhaps it’s time to give up on the fantasy, and concentrate on the reality.