The Crash

Chapter 4

4

I’m in the middle of folding laundry when I have a contraction.

It’s not a real one. Not the kind that would knock the wind out of me every five minutes and send me running for the emergency room. But the kind that is just annoying enough that I have to stop what I’m doing for a split second and take a breath. I’ve been getting a couple of them every day. Practice labor, Dr. Hanson called it.

Which means this baby is coming. Soon. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even this month. But sooner rather than later, Little Tuna is coming.

I don’t feel ready. First of all, I’m exhausted. I haven’t quit my job yet, and I’m afraid to do it until the contract is signed, because I’m paranoid it will all somehow fall through. But the main reason I’m tired is that I’m barely sleeping.

I’ve been having nightmares. I don’t remember exactly what happens in them, but each one ends with Simon’s handsome face hovering over mine. He stares intently into my eyes while his own flash with determination. I wake up shaking with fear that goes down to my very core. (And then I have to get up to pee.)

So yeah, my sleep is crap.

I lay a hand flat on my belly. I haven’t picked out a name for the baby yet. Obviously, I can’t actually call her Tuna. I hear about couples who argue over baby names, but I don’t have that problem. I can call my baby anything I want, because it’s just me.

Yet I can’t think of a name. So she’s still Tuna in my head.

Hi, Mama! Don’t forget to buy me a crib, or else I won’t have a place to sleep!

“Soon.” I place a hand on the muscles of my uterus, which gradually unclench. “As soon as I get the check from your dad, I will get you a crib. And a lot more.”

Right after the contraction passes, my phone rings somewhere in the apartment. I’m lucky I live in a studio, because if I didn’t, I would never be able to find anything ever again. Does everyone have brain fog this bad when they’re pregnant? Yesterday, I was looking for the paperback I had been reading to take my mind off everything, and I finally discovered it in the refrigerator.

I walk (no, waddle ) around the studio in search of my phone. At first, the ringing offers me a clue as to the location, leading me in the direction of the kitchen. Then the ringing stops, and I don’t know where to look anymore. My eyes scan the kitchenette, searching for my tiny little phone.

Oh my God, if I find it in the cheese drawer, I’m going to be so pissed off at myself.

But no, it’s on the microwave, nearly blending into the black surface. I snatch up my phone, wondering if it’s Jackson calling to firm up details about the final contract. We are supposed to be signing tomorrow, and I want everything to go to plan. I figure no news is good news, so I don’t want any news right now.

But the missed call wasn’t from Jackson. It was from my brother, Dennis. My shoulders sag in relief as I press the button to return the call.

“Tegan?” My brother’s booming voice fills my ear. “You okay?”

There’s something about talking to my big brother that always makes me feel like I’m five years old again. “Yes, fine.”

Dennis lets out a long breath. “What’s going on, Teggie?”

“I’m just…” I look around my small living space. “I’m lonely.”

“When are you signing the contract with Lamar?”

“Tomorrow.” I chew on my lower lip. “Any chance you could come out here?”

“I wish I could,” he sighs. “You know I’m swamped right now.”

I can’t argue with that. Dennis works as a skiing instructor upstate at a resort aptly named Snow Mountain. He has loved to ski ever since I can remember. He almost became a professional skier—he’s that good. But then he broke his leg when he was in his early twenties and instead fell into a cushy job working as a ski instructor. Unfortunately, December is one of his busiest months, leading up to the Christmas holiday season. He works his butt off during the winter, then takes it easy for the rest of the year.

“I’ll try to come for a few days when the baby is born,” he promises. “Unless you want to come here for a little while? I’ve got a spare bedroom.”

It’s not a terrible idea. “Let me think about it.”

The invitation is tempting. Dennis always fusses over me when I come to visit him, and I haven’t seen him since I got pregnant. Our dad was a workaholic businessman who had a massive heart attack at age forty when his company went under, so Dennis, who was twelve at the time, stepped up as the man of the house and then once again when our mom died of pancreatic cancer eight years later. He did everything you would expect a father to do, including approving or disapproving of my boyfriends. When one boy showed up at the front door stinking of alcohol, Dennis ran him off with a baseball bat before I could get in his car. Truth be told, most of my boyfriends were not good enough by his standards. He definitely does not approve of Simon.

I wonder what he’d think of Jackson.