Chapter 2 #8
Were there times she wished she could pick up the phone and call her own mother to ask a stupid question—-Did I have a chickenpox shot? Does Windex work on wood? Do spices ever expire?
Did you worry about me when you were pregnant?
“Evie told me that she gave up her art career to take care of me,” I say.
He glances up. “It was only going to be temporary. But . . .”
Neither one of us needs him to finish that sentence.
I feel words scrape up from my belly. “Did she . . . resent me?”
His eyes snap to mine. “No. She wanted you so badly. She was happy. We were happy. But sometimes,” he confesses, “I wonder if I ever really knew her.”
The second Friday in November, Toby has the emergency phone and I have never been happier. My plan is to sleep for twelve straight hours.
By now, I have caved and bought maternity pants. I never go anywhere without Tums. In the mirror, I stare at the silver lines on the edges of my belly and think about how strange and powerful it is to create a human being.
No wonder men have tried to keep women in their place for centuries. We have magic.
This week we got the results from the blood test that sent me spiraling at my last appointment with the ob--gyn.
They were entirely normal, which doesn’t ensure that the fetus is completely healthy but definitely lightens the bushel of worry I’ve been hauling around.
Jesse said, I told you so. We went out for cheap Mexican food, which turns out to be less fun when you are not drinking margaritas.
It’s been the first night off I’ve had in seven days, thanks to torrential rain in the Northeast and a power outage in southern Massachusetts that required hospital evacuation to facilities in Rhode Island.
Jesse and I are watching something on Netflix that I can’t follow because I keep drifting off.
“I quit,” I say, hauling myself upright. “I’m going to bed.”
He brightens. “Is that an invitation?”
This week hasn’t only been hard on me. He’s been alone for most of it.
“Since I can’t keep my eyes open, no,” I tell him. “Raincheck.”
“No more rain, I’ll have to build an ark.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Tell you what. You put the baby to bed tonight, and I’ll do it next time.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
I brush my teeth and strip off my clothes. I am so tired I don’t even remember crawling into bed or turning off the light.
When my cellphone startles me, it’s morning. The rain is still beating against the windows, and Jesse is curled tight against me.
“Molly,” Toby says. “Normally I would never call you on your day off, but a stretch of I--95 washed out because of the storm, and a truck collided with a tractor trailer.”
“Casualties?”
“No, but that’s not the problem. The truck was transporting twelve lab monkeys infected with Covid, herpes, and hep C, and they escaped.”
I sit up so fast my head spins.
“This sounds like the setup for an apocalyptic horror movie,” I say.
“Tell me about it.”
“Okay,” I say, getting out of bed as Jesse stirs. “I need you to do these things.” I rattle off a list of people for him to contact, from the DOT to the Division of Fish and Wildlife. “I’m going to hop in the shower.”
Ten minutes later I’m ready to go.
I open the front door of the condo to find Toby, Miguel, and the rest of my entire Emergency Preparedness team standing there, holding balloons that say congratulations and welcome baby, a haul of gifts, and what looks like a platter of bagels and lox.
For a moment I just stare at Toby. “The monkeys . . .”
“There are no monkeys.”
“I--95?”
“Completely intact.” Miguel grins.
“You’re all fired,” I announce, and I start to shut the door.
Miguel wedges his foot in the crack. “Is that any way to treat the people who are throwing you a baby shower?”
I whirl, turning to Jesse, who has a telltale flush spreading over his cheeks. “You knew?”
“In my defense, you are very hard to surprise,” he says.
My team spills into the kitchen, setting up the food as I open presents.
There are onesies that say if you think i’m tough, you should see my mother and unplanned emergency.
There’s a diaper cake with stacked tiers of newborn Pampers.
Best of all is a plastic tub that is a makeshift survival kit for the baby—-with formula and bottles, distilled water, wipes, diapers, pacifiers, diaper cream, burp cloths, an infant thermometer.
When I open that, tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh wow,” Toby says. “I think we broke her.”
A moment later, the doorbell rings, and Jesse lets in Evie and my dad, and a bleary--eyed Kate and Gary and Anna.
They hug and kiss me, offering more gifts.
Anna sits down on the floor with a onesie and puts it on a teddy bear that Soo--Yun brought as a present.
Evie starts setting out plates and mugs and creamer.
Jesse wraps his arms around me. “Happy?” he murmurs. And right then, I feel a poke—-from the inside. I grab his hand and press it against my belly, and watch wonder transform his features.
Outside, the deluge continues. But in here, it is crowded and loud and messy. Everyone I’ve ever loved is in one place, safe.
Well. Almost everyone.