FORTY-THREE
BLAIR
Baby is the size of a loaf of bread from the Get-n-Split
“We don’t have to stay long,” Colt says as I lean against the wall in the hallway. It’s fifty degrees outside and I’m sweating, somehow. Probably because Colt’s got me bundled up in this stupid jacket and I’m also wearing jeans, and compression socks, and boots, and a long-sleeve shirt.
“If you make me waddle all the way out there, we’re staying,” I say through gritted teeth, reminding myself that I cannot kill the father of my child and I do, usually, love him quite a lot.
I then feel pretty horrible for implying, even for a second, and even in my brain, that I don’t love him right now too, even though he’s ticking me off.
“I love you,” I tell him harshly, to which he just blinks back at me in confusion and ticks me off even more.
It’s not that I don’t want to go to a bonfire.
It’s just that I don’t want to go to the Whittaker family’s bonfire, in all of its tradition-y glory, especially since I haven’t been around them since June’s birthday two weeks ago.
Although I’m not really angry with them, or concerned they don’t want me in their family anymore, it’s been long enough at this point that it’ll be awkward.
Stilted. And I don’t want to deal with that on top of the Braxton Hicks contractions, feeling like a whale, sweating while simultaneously being cold, and the irrational rage I feel toward my partner at the moment.
But I do want a s’more. Literally nothing in the world sounds better than that right now, so I grumble and pout as Colt walks entirely too fast and breathes entirely too loudly. We’re probably two hundred feet from the porch when he asks, “Do you want to take the truck?”
I stop and look at him like he’s certifiably insane. “You said we were walking.”
“Well, you usually like walking, but right now, you don’t seem to like much of anything, so it’s really hard for me to get a read on what you’d rather do,” Colt replies and honestly, I don’t think he’s trying to be a smart aleck, but that’s how it comes across.
I take a deep breath and try to calm down. It’s not his fault. He’s literally been an angel this entire pregnancy and for the most part, I haven’t been too monstrous either, except for the last week or so. I am sick and tired of being pregnant.
“I would very much like to take the truck if that’s an option,” I say with all of the calmness I can muster.
Colt nods, like he should’ve guessed that and I hate to say it, but he definitely should’ve.
“Be right back.”
He jogs back into the house and grabs the keys off the hook while I press my hands against the small of my back and lean back a bit.
I have Googled no less than fifteen times today if my baby could be born at thirty-four weeks and be perfectly healthy.
There were mixed answers, so I try very hard to be grateful I’m still pregnant right now, even if I am miserable.
The headlights of Colt’s truck bounce down the dirt path as he pulls up in front of me and rushes out to open my door. I kiss him on the cheek for his trouble as I get up on the running board to climb into the truck.
“Thank you.”
We’re obviously the only ones who brought their vehicle to the bonfire, but my shyness has mostly melted away in favor of general discomfort, so I don’t think much of it as Colt helps me back down onto the ground.
He takes my hand in his as he leads me toward the fire, trying to decide where to sit.
Callie comes up from practically nowhere, putting her tiny hands to my stomach and pressing her ear against it like she’ll be able to hear the baby tumbling around inside. The most she’ll hear is my digestive system working through my dinner, I’m afraid.
“Calliope Anne Walker,” Theo scolds, coming up behind her. “You can’t just grab Miss Blair’s belly. We talked about this.”
He gives me an apologetic smile and I shake my head at him, mouthing, “She’s okay.”
Callie spots Kenny a few seconds later and I become chopped liver as she dashes off to see her instead. I take the time to press my hands against the small of my back again. Maybe Colt was onto something about leaving after just a few minutes after all.
Theo eyes me and then looks at Colt.
“Can I show you something, man?”
“What’s that?” Colt asks, brows furrowed.
Theo nudges his chin at me. “Go up behind Blair and reach around under her stomach,” he says, waiting until Colt follows the instructions.
“Put your hands on either side there, a little lower, yep. Now, she’s gonna lean back on you when you do this, so make sure you’re steady and then really gently lift her belly up. Not fast and not far but?—”
Colt does as he says and the instant euphoria that comes with the loss of pressure on my back makes me slump back against him, my head finding a resting spot on his shoulder.
“Oh my god.”
Theo chuckles. “Annie did the same thing when she was pregnant with Callie,” he says, and I expect to see sadness in his eyes when I open mine to look at him, but I don’t. He seems happy to have been able to pass on this trick.
“Thank you,” I tell him, feeling slightly bad for Colt because I’m going to be asking him to do this at least three times a day now.
Kenny comes up before Theo can reply, her hand sliding along his arm in a way I clock immediately, even if Theo doesn’t seem to. “Can Callie have a s’more?”
“Your call,” he replies, smiling down at her. I blink, turning to look at Colt the best I can in this position and he side-eyes me as well. We’ll discuss it at home tonight, I’m sure.
“When you go to let go, just make sure you do it gently, not all at once,” Theo advises before walking off.
Colt holds me for another thirty seconds or so before letting go, pressing a kiss to my neck in apology.
“You want to go sit down? Looks like the smoke’s blowing north so we’ll just sit over by Bails.”
“Will you make me a s’more?”
He chuckles, leading me over. “Of course, mama.”
I chat with Bailey while Colt stands beside Kenny, one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around a stick with a marshmallow on the end.
My mouth waters as I watch him. Callie bumps Kenny, causing her to accidentally push her stick too far into the flames, catching fire to her marshmallow.
Colt passes the one he’d been roasting for me to her before Callie can start crying, shooting me an apologetic smile.
“So… Theo and Kenny?” I ask Bailey quietly.
She snorts. “Once Theo gets his head out of his ass, I’d imagine, yeah.
She’s had a crush on him since we were kids, though it died down a bit when he got married.
Then she started watching Callie and, well, she’s practically Callie’s bonus mom at this point.
Fighting to get Callie in her class next year too. ”
I imagine that’s a hard dynamic. For Theo.
For Kenny. For Bailey. Even if I don’t know everything, I know enough to know she wants to be a mother.
I imagine watching Kenny play mommy is probably just as hard as me being pregnant is for her, but she doesn’t seem to want us censoring anything just for her sake, so I don’t bring it up.
Colt brings back my s’more and I reach for it in delight, but he pulls it back, helping me stand up instead so he can take my spot and I can sit on his thigh. There’s not a ton of space for him to sit otherwise.
When I’m seated, he passes it to me and I barely get it within an inch of my mouth before I’m shoving it away and covering my nose. It smells absolutely abhorrent. Sickly sweet. My stomach rolls and my throat clenches as I wave the s’more around until someone finally gets the hint and takes it.
I turn back, with watery eyes from gagging, just quick enough to see Bailey taking a bite out of my s’more and for some godawful reason, that makes me cry.