23
23
THANKS FOR THAT
W e got back to our love nest about ten that same night. Kate was still sleeping like she might not ever wake up. I’d been daydreaming the whole way back about our future. I now considered this pregnancy to be better than good news: it was a safeguard. No way she would go back now. And hand our baby over to The Academy? No way. And anyhow, it would be over my dead body.
I smiled and got out, facing the sliver of moon peering behind the dark cloud above our love nest. Everything looked different now. I started sizing up the garage for a bigger love nest, trying to figure out how to talk Ducky Bob into sharing his freezer space with us and our little rugrat.
I popped open the back and grabbed our bags, wondering if I should broach the subject of selling hers for some extra cash. She needed to quit like half her jobs. And I needed to get serious about getting a new ID, so I could work more legit and hook some whales. Babes and babies cost money.
Kate stirred and lifted her head.
“Honey . . . we’re home,” I called from behind her.
She peeked over her shoulder, and her face crumpled, like just from the mere sight of me. Jesus H Christ she was scaring me. I knew she was less than enthusiastic about this baby. That I also knew she wouldn’t want to get rid of it went without question. That I didn’t want her to get rid of it went without question. She gave me a painful smile, smoothed down her hair, and unclicked her seatbelt to come out and join me.
“I love coming home with you,” I said.
She practically tackled me with the force of her hug, and wouldn’t let go, so I dropped the luggage to hug her back.
“Hey.” I affectionately patted her plump behind. “You hungry?”
She chuckled into my chest. “I think you’ve already asked me that like ninety-nine times since you found out.”
I laughed, probably too heartily at the normal response. “Just practicing my daddy skills.”
She kept her face buried in my chest, deep breathing me in like just the smell of me was fortifying enough for her.
“You know . . . I brought back some of that salsa you couldn’t seem to get enough of,” I offered.
She peeked up at me; there were sparklers in her eyes. “You did?” I nodded, and she chirped: “You’re the best boyfriend ever!” She did an emotional one-eighty, then smacked me on the behind.
I barked out a laugh. “I think we should upgrade my position to baby daddy, due to recent events.”
She busted into a laugh that morphed into a sob. Then popped a hand over her mouth to stifle it.
“Hey,” I soothed, rubbing her back. Her emotions were all over the place. “No worries right now. Promise me?”
She nodded through her tears. Grasped my hand and kissed it, like a peasant does a king or a gentleman does a lady. Weird. Then she took her suitcase and stood, staring mournfully at the monogrammed initials: K N L
I took the suitcase back and replaced it with the near-empty cooler. Her face came undone again before she marshaled it into a smile she couldn’t quite hold on to. So she bounded up the stairs—pretty spry for a pregnant gal. And then I realized she was only nineteen. But not for long. Her birthday was tomorrow. I couldn’t wait to give her her present. It seemed more relevant and special than ever.
I went to bed with a scary quiet Kate. Woke up with the same one stroking my head like I was Mr. Whiskers and, presumably, staring at me while I slept. I reached for her. “Hey, pretty mama.” I yawned. “How long have you been up?”
She stared another few seconds before giving me a bleak smile. “A little while,” she confessed, staring at me with so much emotion I thought I might be dying or something.
Something flickered around in my brain. I guess she’d had her fill of staring at my face, because she didn’t stay to watch the show, sliding out from under me to head to the bathroom. There was something instantly sad about that.
“Hey, come back here.” I got up to pull her back, but she shrugged me off, pretty aggressively.
“Not now, Pete. I’ve gotta go pee.”
I tugged her back until she gave up to perch on the edge of our bed, back ramrod straight. We sat in silence, listening to the wind rustle the leaves of our favorite tree outside our recently replaced window. I scratched at my arm, sighed, and ran a hand up the back of my head. We hadn’t done it one time since the b-bomb dropped. I got it. She was scared. She was nineteen and pregnant. She had a lunatic ex-husband after us. Two brothers who were soon to be uncles and might not ever know it. She had morning sickness, and afternoon sickness, and night sickness. She had no health insurance, or assurance of any kind.
I forced a hug out of her. “It’s gonna be okay, Katie-Kat.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said in the coldest voice she’d ever used with me.
My heart froze immediately. “I’m sorry . . . I never realized it bothered you.”
“Well, now you do.”
I swallowed back hurt and let her go, and she went at once. A couple of minutes later I heard the squeak of the shower knob followed by the spray of water against hard tile. Why was she being such a bitch? Oh. Because I kidnapped her and then knocked her up with my kid. And now she had to live paycheck to paycheck in a house the size the rich people she worked for housed their dogs.
I suddenly felt like I wanted to cry. When she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, she wouldn’t look at me. She went straight to her closet and came out in sweats, then stood staring mournfully at me while I made pancakes. She shook her head at me like I was doing her wrong by making her favorite breakfast. Truth was, we were just out of cereal. But if it heaped burning coals on her head, so much the better.
She trailed in and stood watching me some more while I quietly watched bubbles form on beige batter. She took in a deep breath, like one does right before taking the plunge into a cold pool. “I’m really sorry, Pete. But . . .” Some air came out in an unsteady stream. “My lunatic”—voice crack—“husband”—squeak—“kinda pirated that nickname from Mikey. So—” She broke off, seeming unable to continue. And then her face flooded with emotion.
I shook my head at her. “I wish you would’ve told me this sooner, instead of keeping it bottled up inside.”
She came forward and nudged herself up under my arm. I put one arm around her and flipped the pancakes with the other. She tipped her head up to peer up at me and must’ve read the hurt still on my face. Then she looked hurt that I was hurt.
“I should’ve told you before,” she rasped, “but I didn’t want to make you feel bad. And I didn’t wanna think about it.”
I just nodded at her and took a deep breath in through my nostrils.
“God, Pete! I’m really sorry!”
Oh Lord. Her voice.
“I’m a little messed up right now,” she confessed. “Forgive me?”
I sighed and removed the pancakes from the heat and turned off the stove. I took her hand and led her to one of the barstools. I picked her up and sat her down. “It’s okay, Kate,” I started, and her face crumpled immediately, like because I didn’t say Katie-Kat this time. I took in another deep breath. “We’ll figure this out together. I already have some plans I want to go over with you.”
“Plans.” She snorted this out rudely, despite trying to get back into my good graces.
“Yeah, plans,” I repeated, a little miffed but determined to be the mature one here. After all, I was six years older. Tomorrow—five. Then back to six when I turned twenty-six in November—still pretty young to be a father, but I was determined to man-up. I returned to the kitchen to plate our breakfast, slid some pancakes to her, knifed some fat pats of butter onto them, and poured some maple syrup.
After she scraped up a bite, I said, “I’m going to talk to Bob about transforming the garage into a larger living space for us. I’m picturing this whole upstairs being one big loft for the little guy . . .” I shot her a smile. “Or girl.”
“Pete.” She dropped her fork to hold up her palm. “I just can’t talk about this right now. Okay?” She tried to take the sting out with a smile. “I-can we just put a pin in your grand plans for a couple of days?”
I nodded, swallowing down hurt. “Sure,” I agreed. “Speaking of the next couple of days . . . you won’t be a pregnant teenager for much longer!” I jabbed at a piece of pancake with my fork and took a wolfish bite.
She huffed out a laugh, and a storm of emotions blew away. “You remembered!”
So that’s part of what was bothering her. Her birthday, a significant milestone that now held even more significance.
“How could I forget? It was the very first time I kidnapped you.” I winked and forked another bite.
She laughed pretty heartily at that one, her eyes crinkling up cutely at the corners. I laughed with her and came around to wrap my arms around her. “I think I would’ve fallen in love that first night,” I whispered in her ear, “except for the fact that you gave me a bloody nose and a black eye.”
“Oh gah! Don’t remind me!” she groaned into my chest. Then peeked up at my face “Did I ever tell you sorry for that?”
“I think you finally did.”
“I also remember . . .”—her face wobbled around a bit—“I remember you warned me about Ranger that night.”
I allowed like half my face to grimace at his name spoken in our love nest. I gave her a tight smile. “Well, I tried to warn you off.”
“You know . . . I never did thank you for that.”
“Well, I think it’s high time you did that.”
She smiled through her tears. “Thanks for that.” She ran her hands up my arms and to my shoulders, pulling me in for a much-needed hug. I felt fortified right away. And then she said, “And I never thanked you for tryin’ to rescue me either.”
I laughed. “Which time?”
“ Every time.” She palmed my face and stared deeply into my eyes for a hot, heavy moment. “And for the best two months of my life.”
And then I blinked some moisture from my own eyes. So she looked at it like the rescue mission it was intended to be. And not a kidnapping. I dropped my head, and she pulled me into her chest, cradling my head. I felt like weeping from relief.
“Well, you just wait for the next two months,” I muffled between her breasts. “It’ll make these last ones seem like a day in summer school.” She laughed, and I felt the happy sound vibrate into my head. “And then the next two years will just blow you away,” I went on, “and then the next twenty will be like heaven on earth.”
“I can’t wait,” she said, but it sounded all hollow. I guess because she had my head pressed so tightly into her chest.