Some days, I feel like I have it all figured out,
Like I’m the master of my universe,
And others, you surprise me.
Day 320
I step back from the mannequin in front of me. Her outfit is mouthwatering, and I immediately take pieces from it in my size and set them aside.
And then I eye the beaded cropped top and put it all back, reminding myself that not only would I only be able to wear it for maybe a few more weeks, but it was unlikely that I’d be willing to wear something like that once I was someone’s mom.
The whole idea of me having a child seems a little hazardous but I’m going to have to embrace and accept it, as it is inevitable.
Still, I don’t feel maternal. Just a little ill here and there. Very sensitive emotionally and it feels like someone’s been gnawing on my nipples.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and I pull it out, surprised when I see Gavin’s name.
Gavin: I’m sorry.
The last thing I’d said to him yesterday was for him to stop messaging me.
We’d gone from distant to distraught in these last few weeks and I wasn’t going to subject myself to his anger at our mistake. It’s time to do whatever needed to be done at this point and arguing isn’t one of them.
The text I type out isn’t to him, but to Sabrina.
Me: Gavin apologized.
Her response makes me chuckle.
Sabrina: That’s the very least he could do.
I don’t reply to his text, figuring I can take the time later, when I’m in a more personal setting. I set the phone down on a pile of tees next to the mannequin I’m still appraising.
“That looks amazing,” one of the assistant managers says behind me. Her store manager, Yasmin, is out sick today. This being one of the busier locations, I always find myself here more than the others. The management isn’t bad, the employees get along. For such a high-traffic area, the store runs pretty smoothly.
“You guys always get the best merch before the rest of the stores.”
“That’s because we’re better than them,” she replies with a wink.
I forgot her name and when she catches me glancing at her name tag, she adjusts so I can see it clearer.
“Wren. Sorry.” I wipe my hand on the front of my leggings, pushing them down my legs and away from my thighs where they’ve bunched up.
She laughs.
“It’s fine. Not a very common name to begin with.”
My phone buzzes again and I grab it, only to see Gavin’s name again.
Gavin: Have you eaten? Are you feeling okay?
“One sec,” I tell Wren as I smile and type out a response.
Me: Yes. I’ve figured out that not eating makes me nauseous.
I’d been on a fruit kick lately so strawberries, kiwi, and a banana had been my breakfast. I’d forgone the usual coffee and whatever the hell I could find on my way here.
And lunch was a grilled chicken salad, followed by a frozen chicken potpie. I was starting to become addicted to those things.
Gavin: Okay, good. Make sure you eat, then.
I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes again.
Gavin: And you have to eat healthy. I have big plans for him.
Pregnancy hormones, I’m learning, are nothing to be taken lightly. One moment, I’m happy, the next I’m a raging psychopath. Even as early in this as I am, my body has turned into a baby-making machine and my own comfort inside of it has taken a backseat.
So, when I get that text from Gavin, the tears that spring from my eyes are near involuntary, as thoughtless as breathing at this point.
After all, this was the first time he’d ever said anything remotely close to that; not only accepting that we were having a child but embracing it.
“You okay?” Wren asks. I’d forgotten she was standing there.
“Yeah,” I answer as I wipe at my tears quickly.
“I’m not so good with tears but those look . . . maybe happy?” Wren sounds like she hopes they are and I nod to relieve her of her internal conflict. She walks off with some sort of smile and I look around the sales floor, making sure everything looks perfect before getting ready to go.
When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn’t sure what it meant for me. Or even what it meant for Gavin and me as a unit.
But I knew one thing: it meant there was something bigger than the both of us coming.
Between the cramps, my sore nipples, spotting, fatigue, and morning sickness, I was the only person this was becoming somewhat of a reality for.
Even with the spotting worrying me, and Sabrina calling the doctor and rushing me to get bloodwork done before I got into work this morning, it still wasn’t like having Gavin onboard.
To have someone to deal with that with, someone other than my sister, someone who’d actually assisted in the situation, felt like all of the pressure placed on me was now balanced between the two of us.
I’d talked a good game these past few days, but I couldn’t think of a woman in the world who yearned to be pregnant alone.
My phone vibrates, but this time, it’s my sister.
Sabrina: How’s the spotting?
Me: Still light, so that’s good . . . right?
Sabrina: Yeah, just make sure you’re not on your feet all day.
I push my phone back into my pocket and ignore my cramps, telling myself not to research cramps and spotting during early pregnancy anymore for multiple reasons:
One: I’m there, reading comments all day from as long as seven years ago in these awful forums.
Two: No one ever comes back to these forums to tell us whether they indeed had a successful pregnancy after voicing all of their symptoms and concerns.
And three: I was convinced that search engines were built upon the idea that knowledge is power. But some knowledge just kept you up at night and fucked with your inner peace.
The moment I’d come up for air from several hours of researching my symptoms, I vowed to never do it again.
I grab my things from the back, wave goodbye to Wren and a few of her employees, and head home in the car I’d ordered, just in case being on my feet wasn’t the best for me, as the Internet tooted.
When I get home, Carlos is waiting by the door. I grab his leash and we head off. And it’s like he somehow knows to be a little gentle with me, not tugging on his leash, even when he sees a bird.
It’s still early fall and although I can see the leaves losing their green hues, I don’t wear anything more than a light jacket over my Harry Potter T-shirt.
Part of me wants to reach out to Draya and invite her to dinner, maybe even a few old acquaintances of mine to catch up. But I decide to head home instead and relax, hoping that the time off my feet will make the cramps go away.
My phone vibrates in my pocket almost as soon as I’ve walked in the front door.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Gavin answers, his voice sounding tired.
“What are you doing up?” I calculate the time difference and realize it’s three in the morning. “Just getting home?”
“No, no,” he says, and I wait for him to explain. “I’ve just been up, thinking. About you. About the baby.”
I press my ear into my shoulder, so I can give Carlos a treat.
“Freaking out?” There’s a little humor in my tone. Mostly because what he’s starting to feel now, I felt within the first ten minutes of finding out.
To Gavin, this pregnancy was just an idea. To me, it’s my reality. The changes in my body force me to acknowledge it, even though I don’t indulge in the knowledge.
I don’t talk about genders or names or telling anyone. I don’t pause when I see baby clothes; certainly not when I’m so focused on clothes for myself.
“Obviously. Because you only have to worry about you. I have to worry about you and the baby. And I’m all the way over here. How is this supposed to work?”
I try not to let him hear my smile when I respond.
“You’ve established that you aren’t leaving Pakistan. So, we kind of just have to handle this as it comes . . .”
“My parents are going to kill me.”
He sounds so stressed out and I wish I could hug him. Wrap myself around him like a blanket and tell him it’ll all work out.
“But I see the children here and I wonder about ours and what he’ll look like.”
I roll my eyes.
“Here we go with that?”
“What? I’d like a boy.”
“Of course you would,” I mutter, kicking my shoes off and sitting on the couch.
“What would you like?”
“I don’t really care.”
And here’s the worry. I know it’s still early on, but don’t women usually have these feelings about their babies? About what they want, about their plans for it?
“You seem so relaxed about this.”
I shrug.
“I had already gone through my freak out by the time I told you. I mean, I’m not ecstatic about this but it happened and here we are.”
He’s silent and I listen to the sound of him breathing. It feels so good to talk to him; to not argue and feel like I have to be on the defense.
“I’ve been spotting, though,” I say. “It worries me.”
“Is that normal?”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“You always worry,” he says around a smile. And I wish I could press my fingers to his lips.
“I wish you were here. Not because I need you here but because you know how to calm me down.” It’s like getting diluted doses over the phone. Gavin in person is the antidote to my anxiousness.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I don’t ask him when that’ll be, I don’t make plans around him like I usually would. I just let this conversation be whatever it will be.
Maybe that’s what love calls for today? To simply be.
“Well, I can already tell this is your child. It came to me unplanned and it’s been taking over my life since.”
He laughs and it’s rich and slow to die.
“Seriously. It’s terrorizing my body. One minute I’m horny, the next I couldn’t even think about someone even looking at my nipples.”
“And we both know how much you love my mouth on those.”
It’s my turn to laugh and I pull the phone away from my ear, knowing it’ll be loud.
“I do,” I say after I’ve caught a breath. “I most certainly do.”
“Do you miss sex yet?”
With everything going on, I hadn’t been able to really focus on it. But when prompted . . .
Flashes of his chest as he leans over me, his hands on my hips, in my hair, pulling my body any way he wanted me, his mouth to my ear, whispering words that make me go limp with the desire to be dominated.
“I do now,” I confess, my voice little more than a whisper. “But that’s what got us in trouble in the first place.”
He chuckles and quiets for a moment.
“I saw a rocking chair I want to get you. I can see you sitting in it with the baby.”
That’s his confession.
“Okay,” I tell him.
He clears his throat.
“I should get some sleep.”
“Okay,” I repeat myself.
“Good night.”
“Night.”
When the phone disconnects, I hold it to my chest, wishing I could feel his weight on top of me one more time.