Chapter 27
Jack
Twenty Eight Weeks
“Remind me what this is again?” I ask nervously as we pull into the parking lot of the community center.
“A lamaze class,” Abby says patiently. “Apparently it helps you prepare for birth and gives you some tips.”
“Lamaze is a weird word,” I mumble. “And why am I here?”
“Because you’ve come to everything else,” she says. “And Ellie is out of town, and someone besides me needs to know this information. So take notes.”
We walk into the building and I’m immediately reminded of a school gymnasium. Except instead of flying dodgeballs, there are about a dozen women seated with their husbands on folding chairs evenly spaced out, yoga mats on the floor next to each pair of chairs.
“Now that our final couple is here,” the instructor says coolly, “We can begin.”
Did we just get called out?
I give Abby a sideways glance as we take our seats and see her lips pressed tightly together, holding in a laugh.
“Don’t laugh,” I mutter, low enough that only she can hear it. “If you laugh, I’ll laugh, and we’ll get in trouble.”
She clears her throat, sitting up straight and looking very serious. That sight alone nearly makes me laugh out loud. But I turn my attention to the instructor, determined to retain as much information as I can.
The class is actually really helpful. Everything I’ve learned about childbirth has been from an EMT standpoint–I never really thought about how much labor and delivery takes a mental toll on top of the physical. Abby listens diligently, laser focused on the quirky instructor.
Some of it is a little woo-woo for my tastes, but if it helps Abby, I’ll be glad for it. I don’t really understand the difference between “bodyfeeling” and regular feeling, but all the women in the room nod in unison–they clearly understand something I don’t.
Sometimes the men closest to me will make eye contact, giving me the grimace-smile we men do and rolling their eyes. I feel distinctly out of place, like any moment someone is going to call me out for being a phony.
What am I really doing here? This isn’t my child. I won’t be in the room when she gives birth.
And why does that make me kind of sad?
“Now, I’d like to demonstrate some of the best positions for labor and birth,” she instructor says, clapping her hands together. “Mommies and partners, please move to the mat, thank you.”
Looking a little bewildered, Abby shrugs and sits criss-cross on the mat, motioning for me to join her. I awkwardly kneel beside her, unsure of exactly what’s about to be expected of me.
“Am I crazy, or is this kind of wackadoodle?” she whispers.
“I think that’s a great word for it,” I whisper back. “She’s a little…”
“Eccentric?”
“I was going to say batshit crazy.”
She snorts loudly, then clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in embarrassment. The outburst earns us another stern look, and all of my mental effort is going to stopping the laughter trying to burst out.
“For this first one, I want you to get on your hands and knees, and slowly rock back and forth. Really focus on how the movement takes pressure off of your pelvis–the movement will also help to divert your focus away from the pain.”
“Doubt it,” Abby mumbles, but she diligently follows instructions.
And I diligently try not to stare at her ass in those yoga pants.
“There will be a lot of ways to achieve this forward-leaning position–medicine balls, chairs, the hospital bed if you choose an in-hospital birth.”
“God, a home birth sounds like my worst nightmare,” Abby muses. “Please give me as many drugs as possible.”
The couple next to us gives us a death glare, and the woman shushes us.
“Oops, I think we offended them.”
“It would be very helpful,” the instructor yells. “If everyone would focus on the task at hand, and save any comments for the end of the class.”
Abby’s cheeks flush red, and she looks back at me with an exasperated expression. But the instructor continues on without further scolding.
“For this next one, I want the birthing partners to sit up on their knees, legs spread slightly apart so mom can settle in between them.”
Abby and I both go wide-eyed–I don’t think either of us thought this was what we signed up for.
“Just do it so we don’t get in trouble again,” she says under her breath, scooting closer to me.
I nod, assuming the same position as all the other partners in the room. Abby turns around so she’s facing away from me and settles into me, her back flush to my chest, forearms resting on my thighs.
This is so weird.
We hug, and sometimes her feet find their way to being propped up in my lap when we watch TV, we've even shared a bed, but this is different. This feels downright intimate. Every other couple looks perfectly relaxed, but Abby and I both sit stiffly, still as statues.
Because you’re not a couple, and this is so weird.
“Now moms, what I want you to do is bring your arms up and lock your fingers behind your partner’s neck. Partners, reach around and find a supportive position on her bump.”
Neither of us move. If I thought it was intimate before, this is entering completely uncharted territory.
“Come on, you two,” the instructor says, weaving through the mats closer to us. “PDA might not be your thing, but this is an informational class. And let’s be honest, we all know how we ended up here.”
“Oh, I’m not–”
“He’s just a friend,” she says quickly. “I didn’t have anyone else to come with. I didn’t think there’d be an interactive element.”
“Oh,” the instructor says, eyebrows raised in shock. “How strange. I mean, I’ve just never had a non-couple in my class before. I suppose you can be excused from this position.”
She walks away, and Abby looks furious.
“Strange? She makes it sound like I’m some kind of freak for having you here.”
“You’re not a freak,” I say reassuringly. “Everyone’s situation is different.”
“Well I refuse to miss out on anything because of my ‘different’ situation,” she huffs. “So can we just try this, please? I just don’t,” she hesitates. “I don’t want to be robbed of any experience just because I don’t have her dad to do these things with.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “Sure, let’s do it.”
We assume the position, and I am acutely, painfully aware of every point of contact between us right now. I’ve been with plenty of women, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable with anyone. It feels…right. It feels good. Maybe a little too good.
Careful, bud. You’re just a stand-in. This isn’t real, even if it feels like it right now.
I take a deep breath, trying to clear those thoughts out of my mind. I don’t want this kind of connection with Abby. Or at least I want to not want it. But the seed of thoughts of Abby I've been avoiding takes root deep in my psyche right now, and I have a bad feeling that it’s not going anywhere.
“Now for some breathing exercises–inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”
I feel the rise and fall of Abby’s chest with each breath she takes, and I focus really hard on not focusing on those movements. It’s a little too easy to remember a time when her chest was heaving from a different kind of breathing.
Baseball. The Periodic table. Whale species. Literally anything but that.
“Partners, join in. And don’t be afraid to vocalize with your exhales, really tune in to that bodyfeeling.”
“Yeah, Jack, tune into your bodyfeeling,” she teases. This time I’m the one snorting, causing several heads to turn our direction.
“Try it with me,” she continues in a mock-serious tone. “Inhale…and ohmmmmmm.”
I parody her hum loudly right as a lull in conversation happens, my deep ohmmm carrying through the room at an unreasonable volume. We both start chuckling, which turns into full blown laughter, which turns into–
“That’s enough. You have been a distraction from the moment you walked in here,” the instructor snaps. “It’s not fair to the other partners here. I’m going to have to ask you to leave."
Don’t have to tell me twice.
We hastily clamber off of the mat, grabbing our things haphazardly and bolting from the gym, Abby’s maniacal giggles echoing through the large space.
Once we’re outside, she doubles over in laughter, hands on her knees as she tries to compose herself. I haven’t seen her laugh this hard since before Aaron died, and an odd combination of joy and heartache gives me emotional whiplash.
After several minutes, she straightens up with a deep breath, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
“God, I needed that,” she says breathlessly. “I mean, I really did want to learn things, but holy shit that was ten times better than that. Definitely makes the top five most bizarre experiences I’ve ever had.”
“You’re telling me,” I say with a grin. “I’m here to support you, but please don’t ever make me get in those positions again. Or meditate. Or hear the term ‘bodyfeeling.’”
To my surprise, her cheeks turn a pink and she looks flustered.
Was she struggling as much as I was?
“Yeah,” she says bashfully. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I don’t think I’ve ever been that physically close with anyone other than Aaron. It was…” She lets her sentence trail off, and I wish she would tell me what it was.
It was your best friend’s widow being touched intimately for the first time since he died, even if it was technically clinical.
“Anyway,” I say, changing the subject. “Do you think they immediately started talking shit about us after we left?”
“Oh, without a doubt,” she laughs. “The whole town will probably know we caused a scene by dinnertime tonight.”
“God help me if the boys at the station find out,” I say with a shiver.
“Oh they’ll find out alright,” she says, standing on her tiptoes and patting me on the head. “Because I plan on telling them in explicit detail so I can watch them tease you relentlessly.”
“You’d really do that to me after putting me through that?”
“Duh. And you have to let me, because I’m pregnant and emotional and need every ounce of joy I can get, Jack Robbit.”
“It’s outrageous to pull the pregnancy card for the sake of causing me misery,” I say sternly, flicking her nose playfully to balance out the reprimand. “And don’t call me that.”
“I’ll pull that card as much as I please, thank you very much,” she sniffs, unlocking the car. “And you’d do well to let me.”
“Yes ma’am, you’re the boss.” I lift my hands in surrender before moving to the passenger side and stooping low to climb into her sedan.
She really could boss me around all she wants, and an uncomfortable thought–one that I should definitely not be thinking about my best friend–strikes me.
I think I’d do anything she told me to without a second thought.