Chapter 34
I’m in trouble.
Not simply because I’ve been hallucinating, about cockroaches and disappearing subjects in paintings.
Nor because I sat on a cemetery bench in the pouring rain for half an hour, without any recollection of time passing.
Certainly not only because of the unexpected and unexplainable visit from my long-dead mother, who sat beside me on that bench.
No, the most pressing issue at the moment is that I missed the MotherHelper meeting.
Once I’m home and out of my wet things I call Kat to tell her I’m fine.
“An accidental nap,” I explain. She promises to send me the muffin recipe, and we make plans for our next breath work class. After I get off the phone with her I call Margie.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. My phone is on speaker, and I’m in our bathroom, squeezing water from my sopping hair with a towel. My hands continue to tremble, my heart rate elevated.
“I lay down for a few minutes and then fell asleep. I never used to be a napper before this baby!” I laugh, hoping to keep the conversation short and sweet.
“Oh, I hear you,” Margie says. “Naps can be so nourishing for our bodies. But I hope that doesn’t mean you aren’t sleeping well at night.”
“I’m sleeping well,” I reply. “A touch of a headache this morning. Likely the storm.”
“Hope you’re better now.”
I assure her I am.
“Rest is the best thing for those pesky hormonal headaches,” Margie says. “And peppermint oil on the back of the neck works wonders. Did you get a bottle in your first box?”
I did, and tell her I’ll give it a try. We hang up, and I na?vely believe that’s one problem I’ve successfully checked off the list.
After lunch I clean the kitchen and start a VR meditation, trying (unsuccessfully) to regulate my nervous system.
I’m watching dolphins swim when my watch taps me, a notification flashing at the top of the screen.
Lifting the headset, I look at my watch and see it’s from MotherWise.
I read the message on the family tablet we keep in the kitchen.
Mathilde Crewson, MotherWise Health Center—location N5, 9 a.m. Dr. Alfred Rice
I have a new appointment, which I did not schedule, tomorrow morning. As I scroll through the details I see the reason why: re: headaches.
A burst of irritation fills me, and I calculate exactly how many minutes have transpired between my conversation with Margie and this appointment notification: thirty-eight.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I should not have said anything about a headache.
MotherWise has clear-cut rules for home rest, which they prefer to refer to as “guidelines.” One of which is to attend your MotherHelper meetings.
Why didn’t I come up with a better excuse…
a headache? That was sure to raise a flag.
There’s a ringing, and I see a video call is coming through. It’s Wyatt.
“Hey, babe, how are you?” I lean on my elbows and set my chin on my hands, smiling widely. I’m glad he’s seeing me over the screen—it’s easier to hide my stress.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt is at a jobsite. There’s a robotic crane some distance behind him, a sheet of metal swinging lightly as it’s winched into the air.
A piece of wavy hair escapes the yellow hard hat Wyatt’s wearing.
He looks handsome, but also worried. And angry, I see, as I take in the hard set of his jaw.
No, I am not okay. I’m hallucinating. I lost a chunk of time…oh, and I saw my mother.
“I’m okay,” I reply, infusing brightness into my tone. “Cleaning up from lunch and then I’m going back to the studio to—”
“What’s this about headaches?” Wyatt interrupts me.
“What do you mean?” It’s a silly question, because obviously he’s seen the MotherWise message.
“Tilly, what do you mean what do I mean?” He sighs. The crane’s beeping punctuates the silence when I don’t reply.
“You know the notifications come to our joint account,” Wyatt adds.
I do know this. One of the other MotherWise caveats is that a pregnant woman’s medical history is not quite private. Wyatt, as the biological father, has the same rights I do to access my health records. At least the ones that relate to this pregnancy.
“I was a bit tired, that’s all,” I say. “So I took a quick nap before my meeting and forgot to set an alarm.”
Wyatt frowns. “Why does the appointment say it’s for headaches?”
“I had a mild headache—from the storm, I’m sure of it.
Nothing a little peppermint oil and a nap didn’t fix.
” I hope to appear at ease. But my heart beats faster.
My watch buzzes and I lower my hands to my lap, where Wyatt can’t see them.
I surreptitiously remove my watch. The last thing I need is another data point for folks to get excited about.
“Margie clearly overreacted when I called to tell her why I missed the meeting.”
“And you’re fine now?”
“Perfect!” I nod emphatically to prove it. “I’m about to call and cancel the appointment. A simple misunderstanding.”
“I think you should keep the appointment. It can’t hurt to get a checkup, especially because you did have a headache, and you’re tired.”
“Of course I’m tired.” I let out a quick, forced laugh, tamping down the flicker of annoyance. “I’m almost eighteen weeks pregnant, Wyatt. Growing a human inside my body. I’d be worried if I wasn’t tired.”
“Still, it’s already booked,” Wyatt says. “Might as well take advantage of the perks, including free doctor’s appointments.”
“They aren’t ‘free,’ ” I reply. The MotherWise program is mostly funded through taxation.
“You know what I mean,” Wyatt says, his tone softening. “I better get back at it. And I’ll pick something up for dinner on the way home. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and rest up?”
It doesn’t sound like a suggestion, the way he says it.