“True,” Monica says, as if kicking herself for not thinking of that. “Well, we’ll figure out something to do to make her feel better.”

“Yes, let’s,” I agree.

Our arms are full so we start to head upstairs to put the clothes away. But when we reach the stairwell, we see a scary sight. Jensen’s mom, who has been living with us for the past year or so, is sitting on a stair, with her head in her hands.

“Are you all right?” I ask, rushing to her side.

“Here,” Monica says, taking the clothes I’m carrying out of my hands and adding them to the pile she’s precariously balancing in our own hands. “Let me get these while you attend to Mrs. Bradford. I hope everything’s okay.”

She walks up the stairs, giving us some privacy. It’s her mother in law too, but Jensen and I get along with her better than anyone else in the family. That’s not saying much, though. For a while after she first moved in with us, it had gone much more smoothly than we’d imagined. But lately she’d become cantankerous— angry, deviant, and moody for no reason we could decipher.

“I’m fine!” Jensen’s mom says defiantly.

Her doctor had told us that she was becoming senile from both old age and her history of drinking and taking drugs. He said to expect some docile, sweet moments from her, followed by raging, unpredictable ones, and that this cycle would continue. He’d urged us to move her to a home and Jensen and his brothers have been looking for one and even found a good one. But even though her health and emotions have been a roller coaster ride to put up with, we haven’t been able to bring ourselves to do that.

Jensen loves his mother and wants to help— he’d feel guilty having her “rot away at some home.” I think that the fact that his father is deceased makes it all that much harder to come to terms with grappling with the issue of “losing” his mom too. As for me, I’ve tried to do my best to take care of his mom, to show her we love her and we’re here for her. But lately she has been really testing my patience.

“Okay, can I get you anything?” I ask her.

I shake my head, thinking about how that’s really a question she should be asking me, this late in my pregnancy and seeing as how she’s been staying with us rent-free for so long now. But Jensen’s mom has never been known for her unselfish or giving ways.

“Just leave me alone,” she spits, and starts to stand up. But she’s shaky on her feet, wobbling and nearly toppling over.

“Here you go,” I tell her, helping to steady her. Then I call up the stairs, “Monica, can you come help me…”

I was about to say “bring Mrs. Bradford back upstairs?” but she’s darting for the door, suddenly spry.

“Where are you going?” I ask her.

But she heads out the door, mumbling something about not being a prisoner in her son’s house anymore.

“Oh, my God,” I groan, as I join Monica at the top of the staircase.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “I was just coming down to help.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “But I have no idea what’s gotten into her. Do you think I should run after her? Call the police? Call Jensen?”

Monica shakes her head. “This is really the last thing you should be worrying about right now.”

“But the doctor says…”

“I know, that she’s senile,” Monica interrupts. “But she’s always been a selfish drama queen; that’s nothing new.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I take my phone out of my pocket and try to call Jensen, but there’s no answer.

“Plus, he’s also said you should put her in a home,” Monica says gently. “Maybe it’s time…”

“I know,” I practically whisper.

I don’t want to think about the effect of bringing a baby into such a chaotic environment. But part of me feels that Jensen has been distant because he senses I’ve been thinking that we should put his mom in a home, and he doesn’t want to. The last thing I need right now is marital strife. I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place.

I leave a message for Jensen, letting him know that his mom ran out of the house on her own and that if I don’t hear back from him shortly, I’ll call the police. I figure they’ll know what to do about her better than I do.

“That’s the spirit,” Monica says. “I’m proud of you. Let the police deal with the senile, mean lady running around in the streets. That’s not your job.”

I can’t help but laugh, as she adds, “Just kidding. But seriously. That’s the most you can do. You’ve already done so much.”

“Jensen must be riding his bike home,” I tell her, and I also can’t help but tell myself that, by way of reassurance. The only time he doesn’t answer is if he’s on his bike. Unless…

He’s not that upset that he wouldn’t answer your phone call, I tell myself.

My stomach tightens. I take a sharp breath in as what definitely feels like a contraction passes through me.

“I think the baby wants to see how the clothes look in his room,” I tell Monica. “He’s sending very strong signals that I should pay attention to him. Or maybe he’s hinting that I should hurry up and finish getting ready for his impending arrival.”

“Yes, let me show you,” she says, taking my hand and leading me into the nursery. “This is all you should be worried about right now.”

The baby blue paint and teddy bear stickers on the wall immediately brighten my mood. I rub my belly, excited for the baby to get here.

“Now, I haven’t hung everything up of course, since we couldn’t carry it all at once. But I put everything in here in order by size and then season and then color.”

“Look at you, Miss Organized,” I beam, running my hands along the clothes hanging up in the closet. I have no idea how she did this so quickly. “I knew I wouldn’t regret inviting you over, even if you do bug me to talk about my problems.”

She laughs, and we hug.

“I can handle hanging the rest of the stuff up,” I tell her, still smiling at the system she’s put into place so that I can easily follow it.

“Are you sure?” She asks. “Won’t you need help carrying things?”

“I’m sure,” I tell her. “I want to do some of it on my own so he doesn’t think his mom is completely useless when he gets here. Plus, Jensen should be home soon.”

Monica and I laugh as we head back downstairs. The kids are engaged in a lively game of duck duck goose.

“Time to go,” Monica tells James, sounding so motherly that it’s cute. “Tell your aunt goodbye. You too, Becky and Mason.”

All three kids run over and hug my legs, causing my heart to melt.

“Bye bye, Aunt Riley!” James says. He can’t say his “R”’s yet, so it sounds more like “Wiley.”

“Bye bye, little love,” I say, bending down to kiss him on his cheek. Then I kiss Mason and Becky.

“Pick up your toys before you leave,” Monica instructs.

They do so, placing them back in the bin I keep for when they come over— and for our own baby when he gets old enough to play with them. He kicks me, and I rub my hand over the place where I can feel his arm and his little butt. He’s particularly active right now; he must sense some trouble.

After Monica and the kids leave, I shut the door behind them and look around at the clothes that remain to be put away. There are still some items in a box in a closet, so I begin to unpack them, since it will keep my mind occupied until Jensen gets here. The baby is still kicking around like crazy and I feel an occasional sharpening and tightening of my stomach.

I run my hand up and down, back and forth, to reassure him that everything’s all right. At least, I think it is.