138. Annie
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-Eight
ANNIE
B aby: kicking my insides. Husband: laughing at me.
“ I t’s not funny, Brendan!” I cry out from the couch where I sit tucked under a fuzzy, white throw blanket, my feet up on the leather ottoman. With my hands pressed lightly against my belly, I tell our unborn child, “Jacob honey, I love you. But you have to stop kicking my bladder or I just might kick you back. It’ll be self-defense. Many mothers will back me up on this.”
Brendan’s gray sweater stretches taut across his broad shoulders as he reaches to hang a Statue of Liberty ornament, compliments of Mark and Nicole, on a high branch of our beautiful tree. He slips the string over the bright green bristles and turns to feign shock at what I just said, an amused gleam in his eyes as he heads for the coffee table. “He knows Krav, too. He was in those classes with you.”
“Puhlease,” I groan, sacrificing the pillow that’s supporting my back. He catches it easily before it hits him square between the eyes. “I almost got you that time.”
Ignoring my bold statement, Brendan continues on topic while casually tossing the pillow in the air as he speaks. “You know how some mothers hold up headphones to their stomachs to teach their babies languages or music in the womb? Well, you taught our son to kick ass.” He’s referring to Krav Maga, the martial arts self-defense class I was taking until I ballooned into the shape of Montana.
I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smile at him, thoroughly unconvinced but loving the possibility. “No way! I only trained a couple months after I knew that Mr. Man here was conceived, so he couldn’t have soaked in that much. He was only the size of peanut!” Dryly, I add, “He doesn’t know squat. I could take him. Now give me that back.” Brendan pretends to throw the pillow, but then doesn’t. “What, am I a dog or something? Give it!” He grins and lightly tosses it to my outstretched, bloated hands. I wedge it behind me good and tight while I watch him reach into the box of ornaments, digging through empty containers for what might be left. I have a thing for men’s shoulders and with him bent over like that, rifling through the plastic and paper wrappings, I’m just staring at those shoulders of his. He rises up and pushes down his sweater over the top of his jeans, unaware that I’m lusting after his body as he walks to hang a gold orb on a middle branch.
I wish he were lusting after my body. I will lose this baby weight. I will lose this baby weight. Mantra or no mantra, today I feel like a cow. Feeling this uncomfortable sure does nothing for a woman’s self-confidence. I know I’m pregnant and that it’s not like I got this way because I couldn’t put down the donuts, but still when I see a skinny woman lately, I kinda want to punch her.
There are four different stages to pregnancy.
Glee.
Puking.
Excitement.
Over it.
“You know, a girl last night said that Jacob is timing his arrival. Like he’s got it planned. Do you think that’s possible?”
Brendan shrugs and walks to the box my mom sent. He roots around the now mostly empty wrappers a minute to produce a tiny, blue and white sweater ornament so small it’d be tight on a mouse’s chest. He smiles at it, and turns back to the tree.
My eyes are on the backside of his well-fitting jeans. “Taryn said that we make a contract before we’re born, deciding who we want for our parents, kinda like soul mates. We do it to ensure we learn what we’re meant to, or what we choose to.” He shoots me a look over his shoulder that shows exactly what he thinks of that idea. “Yeah, I know. But it could be.”
“I strongly doubt it.”
“Me too, but how can we know for sure?”
Shaking his head no, he bends at the knees to hang the tiny sweater on a low branch in front.
I look to my tummy. “Did you choose me and Brendan, li’l guy? And while you’re answering questions, what are you doin’ in there? Smoking a cigar and having a good laugh at your momma?”
“He’s enjoying a Scotch and plotting out how to become President, that’s what he’s doing.” Brendan chuckles and gives the tiny sweater a flick with his index finger, watching it sway on the slender, silver hook. “This looks old. Did your parents buy this one, or was it given to them?”
Racking my brain, I come up empty. “I have no idea where it came from. Probably my Aunt Marge? She liked to knit? I don’t remember. It does look old, doesn’t it? I’ll have to ask my mother. Oh, I love this song!” Closing my eyes to enjoy the deep, crooning of Bing Crosby’s White Christmas , I say on a happy sigh, “Wouldn’t it be great if it snowed?”
Brendan stands back to admire the tree. “It would be. All done, babe. What do you think?”
I peek out over my nose, taking in the tree as a complete work of art for the first time. Lifting my head, I can’t help but say with awe, “Wow! Look at what you did!”
Silver tinsel shimmers all around ornaments big and small, from expensive to homemade, each spread out abundantly. The tiny, white lights cast the most magical, soft glow around my husband as he walks to me.
“You like it? Aren’t you glad I closed the curtains so you could get the full effect?”
I nod. “It’s really beautiful, Brendan. I’m sorry I pooped out halfway through. It’s just I’ve been –” Stopping myself, I change direction. “It’s really beautiful.”
Stopping in front of the ottoman, his smile is intimate. “ You’re beautiful.
I snort, “I look like a blanketed whale!”
“Prettiest whale I ever saw.” Then he adds with a smirk, “And our son is like his daddy. He likes to make you wait.”
My jaw drops and I cry out at his impudence, “Rude! That was a hard time for me.” He grins, and I lose the fake-shock to ask coyly, “Sexy husband?”
“Uh-oh.”
Laughing, I shake my head a little as I struggle to achieve the out-of-character tone again. Clearing my throat and batting my eyelashes, I very softly ask, “Would you pretty-please rub my feet? After all, you did do this to me.”
“Oh ho! I knew it! Put the blame on the man when the woman was the one who refused to use a condom.” He laughs and bends to lift up my legs by my calves, sitting down on the ottoman and putting my sore feet onto his lap. He grabs my ankles and tickles the sensitive bottoms of my feet as I cry out in laughter. “ Who refused? I’m sorry, what? You did!”
“Stop it! Stop it! I didn’t, and you know it!”
He stops tickling me and argues, “We only talked about it once, and you weren’t into it…and then we never talked about it again.”
The words take an enormous bite into my insecurities and my face falls as he looks down to rub my toes. Brendan and I didn’t fall in love at first sight, to say the least. He was my crush long before he ever knew I existed and some things happened that I’d rather forget, during that time. It was years before he noticed me and then, when he did, the road was insanely rocky.
So now, when I’m a whole week past my due date, he’s going to bring up for the first time our neglect of condoms? I’m silent for as long as I can hold it in, but then I have to ask, my voice barely above a whisper, “Are you saying you didn’t want this?”
His eyes flash up and his smile vanishes instantly. “No! Annie, that’s not what I meant.” He leans toward me, holding my eyes. “Annie.”
“I’m sorry.”
He clasps both my feet tightly in his hands. “Stop it. You don’t have to apologize. I shouldn’t have joked about it. You know how happy I am with you. Can’t you tell? You two are my whole life.”
An ache pulls at my heart at the words. “I’m sorry. I’m just feeling emotional lately. It’s that music! Damn you, Bing Crosby!” I laugh, tears gathering in my eyes.
Brendan smiles and gets up to kiss me. I return the kiss with my hand on his cheek. He looks into my eyes and kisses my nose before returning to the ottoman. I point my toes and touch the zipper of his dark blue jeans.
“What have you got in here?”
Deftly grabbing my toe, he chides me, “Now, now. You want your feet rubbed, or something else?”
Ooooo. Tough call. “Feet first, please.”
He grins, digging his thumbs firmly into my arches until I groan and close my eyes, dropping my head back on the couch again. “Sooooo gooooooood.”
“Freckles?”
“Mmm?”
“I love you.”
The second he says it, I don’t know why, but I realize what I’ve not remembered to tell him.