Chapter 37
thirty-seven
GREER
The plastic bag in my hand starts to cut through the skin as I climb the stairs to my apartment. Note to self: if I’m going to walk to the grocery store, buy one of those rollie carts.
The online app that shows patients' blood test results chimes. It alerts throughout the day, but this time my heart starts racing in my ears as I scurry for my phone, anxious to see the name. I mutter a curse when it’s the results of a routine blood panel for a patient. A watched pot never boils. Leave it be.
The scent of cooking meat wafts to my nose, sending my stomach roiling.
Placing the protein shakes on the kitchen counter, I put a lid on the pot of diced chicken, hoping to dissipate the scent.
It’s lingering in the stagnant air of the apartment.
After calling for Jude, he answers back with, “In the hallway.” Metal scrapes against the floor from the direction of his voice, and I quicken my steps. What is that man up to now?
Bifold doors once hid an empty closet in the space. They’re open now, showing off a front loading washer and dryer set, complete with pedestals. Jude’s crouched down, fiddling with something on the washer.
“Jude Clairmont, why is that in this apartment?” I demand, shoulders slumped. I already know the answer and the conversation that will follow.
Sure enough, he says, “Because we’re not leaving bed every weekend to go to the laundromat.”
“It took an hour.”
“Yes, but in those sixty minutes, the little shithead attendant stared at your ass when you were leaning over.”
“For crying out loud! You scared the crap out of the man so badly I don’t think he’s ever going to look at another woman again.”
“There will be more men, more Sundays, and occasions where I won’t be able to go. So now there’s a washer and dryer in the apartment. It’ll be more convenient when you come home from work covered in cooties and vomit anyway.”
“I’m taking it back.”
“How are you gonna get it down the stairs?”
Calling my uncle is on the tip of my tongue, but that’ll add fuel to an argument I’ll lose.
I shake my head, ready to argue again, but I give up. I’ve got to pick my battles. “What am I going to do with you?”
He shoots me a devilish grin, “I can think of a few things.”
I roll my eyes heavenward. “I don’t need such a nice set.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I plan on doing a load here in a minute. Got any detergent?”
“Let me grab it from the bedroom.”
“Thanks. Don’t change into your house clothes, though. We’re going to the drug store.”
“For what?”
He pokes his head out of the closet. “You know. Don’t think I missed that you left for work pale as a ghost and came back looking worse.” He narrows his eyes as if to inspect me. “What have you eaten today?”
Inwardly grimacing, I confess, “A protein shake and a cherry popsicle out of the clinic freezer.”
“So we need to get you fed. Can you handle fettuccine alfredo?”
“The chicken’s making my stomach turn.”
“Ok, so after I put on a load of laundry, we’ll run to the pharmacy, and then fettuccine without meat. We can add some extra cheese for the protein.”
“We don’t need to go to the store. I kinda broke down and asked Sully for a blood test today.”
He quirks an eyebrow up, but stays quiet. It’s one of my father’s tricks, too. It’s so we anxiously ramble, supplying more information.
“Sully could tell I was sick. He assumed it was from blood sugar swings and offered me a nausea med sample that isn’t safe during pregnancy. When I refused a second time, he put the pieces together.”
“And?”
“And the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a patient’s chair having my blood drawn by the phlebotomist who visits the clinic.”
His index finger taps pensively against his thigh. “So, now what?”
“Now we wait. If I don’t have results here in the next hour or so they’ll be in tomorrow morning.”
His voice is sure, but you can hear the grin in it. “We need to have some big talks. I was going to wait on things, but a baby changes that.”
The words feel wobbly in my chest when I ask, "Do you want to move in?” The idea of being left alone and pregnant stings. Jude’s stayed in my apartment almost every night since he’s been back from his run, but I want the reassurance he’ll be here, baby or not.
He gives a careless one shoulder shrug, “I kinda already have moved in. Everything I own is here except for my tools and some other things I’ve left at my father’s place. The only thing in my room at the compound is the bare essentials on the off chance I can’t come home for some reason.”
“But when you emptied your room at the prospect house, you just came back with your tablet and a rucksack?”
“I’ve been on many deployments with less. Believe me, I’ve learned how to pack it.”
“So, regardless, we’re living together?”
“Yeah, pretty much. You happy about that?”
“Yes, I am. I like having you here.”
This doesn’t feel like a new relationship anymore.
Simple things like calendars and society’s rules feel irrelevant for us.
We’re committed to one another, for starters.
In love. I crave this man. Sure, we’re still getting into our groove, but this is end game.
He’s going to be the father of my children regardless of when it happens.
That being said, if I’m not already expecting, I’m going to be on contraception before my period is done. If not, we’ll be right back here again in only a few weeks. Jude will crook his finger, and I’ll be happy to give him unprotected sex, especially since I want it just as badly.
I love having Jude by my side, but I’m starting out in life. I’ve worked hard as hell to become a nurse and have no desire to leave it. My place is functional but bare-bones. I need and want to make this more of a home. Plus, I want time with Jude. We only found one another a few weeks ago.
But if having a baby right now is such a bad idea, why does it feel like the icing on the cake?
I love the life Jude and I are building together, from the club to my job, Jude himself.
It feels like I have everything I could ever want.
Why can’t I have it all? Why can’t I scour the town’s flea markets for treasures with a baby in a stroller and Jude holding my hand?
At what point are you waiting for life to be “the perfect time” and you’re just treading water?
My parents are not going to take the news of a baby well.
They’d be nervous regardless of the circumstances.
My parents want a specific type of man for me, one just like my ex, that’s clean cut and goes to work in an office every day, one always on his best behavior, treating me like a fragile rose.
I just want Jude. I want Jude the way he is, questionable profession, and all.
Preferably on his worst behavior. Jude’s irrational and jealous, but it just shows me how much I’m treasured.
Jude and I may not have ever met before now, but our families have lived in neighboring communities spanning two centuries.
Jude and I may be newer acquaintances, but our families are not.
Without a doubt in my mind, Mom and Dad know Jude’s extended family.
Dad may even remember his grandpa Melancon warning him to avoid the Clairmonts.
I’m not sure if these connections will help or seriously hinder their relationship with Jude, but there’s no in between.
The medical chart app alerts on my phone again, a sound Jude must recognize because he lets me go. After signing into the app, my eyes wander up to meet Jude’s. This is it. The muscle in Jude’s jaw tightens. “Well?”
Two clicks, one scroll, and I pull in a long, deep breath. Our eyes connect for the longest moment. “Congratulations, Daddy.”
He pulls me toward him. “Do you know how happy this makes me?”
“You’ve been pretty clear you want a baby with me.”
“What about you? Nervous?”
“Mainly about all the health aspects of it, but I’m excited at the same time.”
“Which is why it’s your Pregnant and Pampered Era. Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll come cuddle after I turn everything off. We can go out and grab a bite after you nap. You’re more likely to eat something you don’t smell cooking.”
“We’re going to have a baby,” I reiterate, almost reminding myself.
“We are, and nothing could make me happier. By the way, how high were your hormone levels?” Jude asks.
“Why?”
“Because hCG levels are even more elevated in a pregnancy with multiples.”
“Identical twins aren’t a genetic thing. That’s fraternal twins.” I’m shutting down that thought real quick. Everybody has their limits.
“You were pretty sick, which suggests…”
Nope, not discussing this with him. Not when I’m already dealing with identical twin parents. I escape to the comfort of my room, refusing to even begin that conversation.
After slipping out of my scrubs, I happily free my breasts from my bra, and slip into a long, loose tee of Jude’s. The darkened room and cool sheets do wonders for my nausea, or maybe it’s resting.
I keep my eyes shut when Jude crawls into the bed next to me under the covers.
He flicks on my bedside lamp, then lifts the hem of my tee.
His Adam's apple bobs as his hand glides over my belly. In a broken voice, he says, “Our baby is in there.” He’s wearing the most contented smile when he leans down and presses a tender kiss below my navel.
“You are going to be the best mother,” he reassures.
“You think?”
“I know. Look at Hank. He’s spoiled rotten but well trained at the same time. His diabetes is well under control, even though you’re managing your own as well. That takes a lot of love.”
“I’m worried the baby will have diabetes.”
“If it does, we deal with it. Statistics are on our side, though.”
“Your sister’s diabetic. That ups the likelihood.”
“Not significantly. Like half a percentage.”
Looks like we’ve both looked up the studies and are worried about the same thing. Well, I’m concerned. Jude is confident as always, an anchor.
Medical knowledge is not on my side right now. All of the “what ifs” roll around. I’m happy to have a baby, but nervous.
“It’s been enough years you know what you’re doing, and you have me for support. If you need or want time off from work to decrease your stress, that’s an option. I’d honestly prefer it while you’re expecting.”
Jude reaches for my phone and turns it to mute.
It’s always the first thing he does when he wants my full attention or to give my brain a moment to reset.
It is the most supportive thing someone has ever done for me.
I never allowed Mom to connect her phone to my continuous glucose monitor via a special app.
She’d go crazy and call every time my blood sugar zig-zags.
Jude uses it often to dose insulin or give me a juice box when I’m going low.
With him, it’s not fear, just love. I don’t worry I’m burdening him or making him take on more than he should.
It’s just organic, like handing your partner a piece of gum.
Whether he wants my brain to turn off or to have me to himself right now, I can’t be sure.
Probably both. But his little trick works, and everything dissipates to just me, Jude, and our sweet pea.
I doze off to Jude’s callused palms resting protectively on my middle, and wake up to him watching me with his head propped up by his arm. Spooning in him, I feel safe and content.
“Feeling better?” he asks. “You slept for about an hour.”
“Much.”
“Good,” he mutters, pulling me tight. The bulge of his erection digs into my thigh as he worships my body with gentle kisses and caresses meant to entice.
When Jude makes love to me, it feels more final than wedding vows, than the property patch.
Our lovemaking shows one another what words transcend.
Having a baby so soon in my life is going to come at a cost. But who the hell cares if it means I spend my life with a man who loves our unborn child and me this much?