34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
“While the idea of multiple births may seem daunting, it truly is a blessing.”
A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)
“ W hat’s wrong?” Emma demanded with horror. I was surprised to find myself at Coop’s restaurant. J.B. didn’t even bother trying to put me in the car; he just dragged me the six blocks to Galileo.
″I didn’t know what to do,” he was telling Emma bleakly.
″Oh my God,” she breathed. “What happened? The baby…”
″I’m having three fucking babies!″ I snapped. Emma blanched.
″The doctor thinks she’s carrying triplets,” J.B. translated.
″Three!” Emma actually jumped up and down in delight. “Three of them? That’s wonderful news!”
″For whom?” I yelled.
″For you. Or not for you? Oh, Casey, it’s a surprise, but this is so great. I have to tell Cooper.” And she ran into the kitchen.
″We’re having three babies,” J.B. said glumly to a passing waiter.
″Congratulations!” he chirped in return.
″No, it’s not congratulations.” I was back to snarling again. “It’s the worst news ever!”
Cooper stalked out of the kitchen with a look of irritation on his face. I cringed, thinking it was directed at me, but all he did was pull me into his arms. “Really, triplets?” he asked into my hair. I nodded. “Three babies are better than one. Everything will be fine.”
I burst into tears.
″I didn’t know what to do, man,” J.B. explained in a low voice. “She just lost it. I think she’s hysterical.”
″Everything will be fine, Casey,” Emma told me with a pat on the back. I was still crying.
″I don’t know what to do,” J.B. repeated. I wished he’d think of something to do, or at least something else to say.
″Everything will be fine. Just calm down.” I didn’t know if Cooper was talking to J.B. or me, but I think his words worked on both of us. I finally stopped crying, and J.B. ceased his pacing through the restaurant.
Emma brought me a glass of wine and led me to a table already set for dinner. “I’m sure the doctor will say this is okay,” she assured me.
″I have a Valium in my purse,” offered one of the hovering waitresses. I remembered her from the night of Brit’s stagette. I’d have said hello, but I was not capable right then.
″I have a joint,” someone else offered. That sounded even better. I held out my hand for the drugs.
“She’s pregnant,” snapped Emma.
Well, as soon as she said that, I got plied with congratulations and best wishes and cries of “That’s so wonderful!” from the staff who didn’t witness my initial outburst. It’s hard to have a pity party or a scared-out-of-your-mind party when that’s going on, so I had to pull myself together. I finished my wine in about two gulps.
″I’ll take you home,” J.B. told me.
″You’re not taking me anywhere,” I told him savagely. “This is all your fault.”
“You can’t mean that.” Emma laughed.
″You think I’d do this to myself?” I retorted.
J.B. opened his mouth to speak, but Cooper raised his hand. “Casey, you’re not making sense. You’re understandably upset. J.B., you have to go to work. Em, why don’t you call Casey’s sister and see if she can meet her at the house? I’ll get her in a cab, and Case, you can go home and have a nice bath—”
″Without any gin,” J.B. said quickly. I made a face at him.
″Without anything like that. Lots of bubbles,” Coop said. “And all this will feel better in the morning. Sound good? ”
″I’ll try to get off early,” Emma promised after she called Libby for me. “Call me if you need anything.”
″Everything will be okay,” Cooper told me as I was getting into the cab.
″Casey?” J.B. called to me. His face was white and set, and I still didn’t care. Yes, it may be irrational blaming him, but at the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. I stalked out to the waiting cab without another word to him.
Libby was there when I got home. I was about to start off another rant as soon as I saw her, but she easily derailed me with three little words, “Shut up, Casey.” Then she made me the decaffeinated tea I’d been drinking lately, and I told her everything Dr. Morrissey told me—about the chubby and the vaginal/pelvis stuff, everything I could remember. After the doctor hit me with the news of three babies, it was hard to remember much more after that. I did remember disliking her with an intensity that was unusual for me.
Anyway, with Libby taking over from what Coop and Emma began, I finally decided that throwing myself under a bus wasn’t a viable option at this time. Libby kept telling me how Dr. Morrissey didn’t know shit from shat and I could give birth any way I wanted to. She also surprisingly made me see that none of this was J.B.’s fault. By the time she left, even though I was still scared poopless about the prospect of triplets, I felt a great deal better. My babies are going to be loved by so many people, I thought to myself as I drifted into sleep.
I woke up hours later, absolutely starving. Normally I had a strict policy about not eating in the middle of the night—if I did that, I’m sure Dr. Morrissey would be calling me more than chubby—but because I’m pregnant, I felt it was my duty to indulge. Plus, I’m not often hungry. I was sure I’d end up throwing it up later, but a little food now wouldn’t hurt.
I went upstairs because Coop had made some homemade bread the other day and I thought it would make wonderful toast right now. So I headed up without turning on the light in the stairway, almost tripping on the cat, which wouldn’t be a good thing since in the movies, women always have miscarriages when they fall down the stairs. And now that I was calm, cool, and collected, I didn’t want one little thing to go wrong with these babies. Even earlier, when I wasn’t so calm and collected, I still didn’t really want anything to happen to them. I might not have gotten pregnant the way I planned and I might be having more babies than I intended to… I just realized absolutely nothing involving this pregnancy was going according to plan. I should just throw away any preconceived notions about what I was doing and how I was supposed to act and how everyone else was supposed to act. But the bottom line was that I would die if anything happened to these little kidlets I’m carrying within me. My babe-lets. My babies. Oh my God, there are three of them!
I made my toast and then went back downstairs, holding onto the wall again so I wouldn’t be tempted to trip. The toast tasted great and I managed to keep it down, but it also woke me up; the way my mind was racing, I was not sure if I’d be able to go back to sleep.
Triplets.
Who has three babies at one time? How could my uterus accommodate three babies at once? Women look like they have an oversize basketball under their shirts when they’re pregnant with one kid—what am I going to look like with three? Like I have three basketballs under my shirt? That’s just too lumpy to even contemplate. How is my body ever going to go back to normal? I’ll be all stretched and saggy, like my deflated exercise ball sitting at the bottom of my closet. That’s why I’m chubby according to Dr. Morrissey—because all my exercise stuff is at the bottom of my closet. Stupid, hobbit-sized bitch for calling me chubby.
Okay, so I’m a little irrational—emotional, illogical, crazy—at the thought of having triplets. Three babies. Me with three babies! Eventually, I do want more than one child, but not right away! I thought I could take some time and figure out what I was doing. I could make my mistakes with the first one so that when number two came along, I’d have everything down pat. And by the time the third rolled around, I’d be an expert.
But now—chances are these are all the kids I’ll ever have because who is going to want to date a single mother with triplets, let alone marry her and have more? What are the chances of me having another multiple births after the first one? I could, like, end up with sixteen kids by just being pregnant a couple of times, like one of those horror mothers from the reality shows. I should ask the doctor about it. Chances are this is probably it. So if I screw up, I screw up all of them at once. It’s a scary thought.
What is also scary is that if these babies are the only ones I will ever have, then I will have no other children by anyone other than J.B.
I wonder if I would be having triplets if David had been the father or Mr. Anonymous Donor? Is it my fault, or is it J.B.’s supersperm that did the trick? It must be supersperm if it managed to get past the condom (probably not the most effective use of latex since it expired over three years ago) and my birth control pill (also not that effective when you don’t remember to take it constantly). But—wow. Somebody upstairs sure wanted me to get pregnant. Probably sick of hearing me go on and on about it, so it’s like, let’s give it to her with both barrels to shut her up.
But looking at it that way does do the trick in making me feel better. I’ll be okay. I’ll be better than okay—I’ll be great. I’ll have my babies, and maybe it won’t be the easiest thing in the world to raise them, but you know what they say about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Well, I’ll be superstrong after I finish raising these kids. Superstrong, like J.B.’s supersperm. The thought makes me giggle.
I can’t imagine how I eventually fell asleep, but I managed, probably because I was so exhausted by the hysterics of the day. I was awakened later by the sounds of the stairs creaking, then footsteps. Whoever it was, they were doing their best to be quiet, so it was hard to tell. Probably Cooper, I decided, coming down to check on me. I heard a shuffle on the carpet outside my bedroom, and then I could smell him. The smell of beer, cranberry juice, and olives tried to overpower his cologne.
J.B.
I didn’t move. I lay still, trying not to breathe too loudly as I waited for him to say something. Maybe he’d just come down to check on me—make sure I didn’t electrocute myself or something, just to get rid of the babies.
Instead of speaking, J.B. came over to my bed. Then he lay down, curling his long body beside mine and slipping an arm around me. All the air I’d been holding in came out in a little gush.
″Are you awake?” J.B. whispered.
″No,” I told him.
″Oh.” His arm tightened around me. “You okay?”
″Not really.”
″I’m sorry,” he said cautiously. “I didn’t mean to give you three babies.”
I had to smile at that. “It’s not your fault,” I admitted. I could feel his arm relax around me. “I’m sorry I kept going on about that.”
″It’s fine. Blame me for whatever you want. You’re the one who has to take care of these things.”
″Just me?” Icy fear clutched my heart. Was that it? Was J.B. running scared at the thought of three babies?
″Well, for now, because they’re sort of inside you, but I’ll do what I can. I mean, I’ll try to.”
″You’re not leaving?” I asked tearfully .
″I’ll stay the night if you—oh.” He took a deep breath as he realized what I meant. “No, I won’t leave you, Casey.” I could only nod and clutch at his arm slung over me. J.B. gave a little chuckle. “Guess you think I’ve gotten rid of some of my inner asshole then.”
″Maybe a little,” I whispered.
We didn’t say anything for a while. I could feel him cuddle closer to me.
″I’m glad you were there,” I said softly.
J.B. gave a low chuckle. “Me too. You probably would have knocked that poor old guy over and started screaming at him in the middle of the street if I hadn’t been.”