Infinity. (Infinity Series) (7 page)

The lady checking me out has a kind, grandmotherly face. She smiles knowingly at me as she hands me my purchases and says, “Congratulations.” I can feel my perma-grin cracking my cheeks. This is a new kind of happiness that I’ve never experienced before. I’ll be able to add “mommy” to my list of titles.

On my way home, I send this baby’s daddy a text.

Me:
When will you be home?

Colin:
Whenever you need me. Feeling okay?

Me:
Okay. Are you working out after your meetings?

Colin:
Not sure.

Me:
Do you mind running with me this evening?

Colin:
Sure. I can probably think of other ways to work you out.

Me:
Mind out of the gutter.

Colin:
Never! Be home in an hour.

When I arrive home, the first order of business is to let Pancho out of his kennel. He’s been such a Destructicon, as Colin calls him, lately, that he must be kenneled when no one can watch him. Just last week, he chewed the handle off of Chef’s Coach leather messenger bag. That cost us eight-hundred dollars.

Pancho howls when he sees me head toward his kennel that we keep in the laundry room. I open the door and kneel down, bracing myself for his greeting kisses. He wiggles so much that it’s surprising his front half doesn’t separate from his back. I scratch behind his ears, and kiss his head.

“Guess what, big boy? Mommy has a secret for you. You’re the first to know. You’re going to be a big brother.”

It feels so good to say those words out loud. Pancho says congratulations by bathing my face with licks. I open the back door, depositing Pancho outside so he can take care of his business.

Next, I walk into the kitchen. Thank goodness whatever Chef prepared for dinner doesn’t smell disgusting. There’s a pile of mail on the granite countertop, but I ignore it. I want to make sure that everything is perfect for telling Colin our great news before I start mundane chores.

Carrying my new purchases into the bathroom, I head straight for Colin’s closet. His running shoes are in their usual spot, neatly placed on the floor under his hanging workout shirts. I slip the tiny pair of Nikes out of the boutique shopping bag, and place them next to Colin’s custom-made Nike shoes. In some wonderful twist of fate, they actually match. Colin’s are only twenty times larger. I take out my phone and snap a picture, for posterity’s sake. Then, I clap like a fool so excited at how this turned out. It’s the perfect way to share our news.

Next, I remove the ultrasound pictures from my purse and instantly become transfixed. Sinking to the floor of my husband’s closet, I take a breath to absorb the enormity of the moment. The positive pregnancy test changes everything about my life. My body has been hijacked by Mother Nature. I can’t control my weight, or the size of my breasts. My abdomen will expand without anyone asking me if it has my permission.

I think back to my earlier nausea. What if I get sick in surgery? What does being pregnant mean to my career? What does a baby mean to my future? Did I go to Harvard to practice medicine for only four short years? Is Rachael right? Have I shoveled shit to get where I am just to give it up for mommy-hood?

I lie back on the soft carpet and close my eyes, blocking out the harsh florescent lighting. Colin’s body scent is strongest in his closet, and thankfully, it doesn’t make me feel bad, even though there’s a hint of his cologne. Smelling my husband tethers me back to reality, and away from the tornado of emotions whipping over me.

Being pregnant is my new normal. Worrying about our little bean thriving inside of me will become a part of my everyday routine, like brushing my teeth. One day, I’ll forget what it felt like to only be concerned about me. In that moment, I wish that I could rewind time one month, knowing that I was about to conceive a child. I would spend that last month being so much more carefree. Maybe Colin and I would do something risky, like travel the Amazon River, or go skydiving. I would definitely wear a bikini one more time in public. However, what I think that I would do the most with my borrowed time is just spend hours upon hours basking in Colin’s attention, enjoying being the center of his universe.

In about thirty minutes, my life is going to change forever. Once Colin knows about the baby, he’s going to be even more neurotic than he usually is about me. There are going to be battles at every corner. He’ll probably fight me on running every morning, even though Doctor Starr said it was fine. His anxieties over my safety will go through the roof. Every bite of food that goes in my mouth will be scrutinized. Will he be afraid to make love to me? God, I hope not.

I don’t doubt that he’s going to shower me with attention and care, but it will be about the baby also. I let out a sigh, and place both hands over my pubic bone. Yes. I would give anything for just one more month not being pregnant, but with the future knowledge that we would conceive soon.

I have my first conversation with this kid. “Your daddy is going to drive Mommy crazy. You’ll probably hear some arguing, but it doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other. It just means that sometimes we love each other a little too loudly. Now, be a good baby, and don’t make me sick again. That’s the surest way possible to get Daddy riled up. We’ve got to be a team here,” I say, rubbing my hand over my lower abdomen. “And right now, you’re on my team. We’re calling ourselves Team Collins, but don’t tell Daddy.”

I make a note to talk to Doctor Benson, my therapist, about these out-of-control feelings. I know from all of my therapy that pregnancy is a big trigger for my disease. Submitting oneself to nature is very hard when control is my weapon of choice in the battle against my eating disorder.

Before my thoughts have fully played out, Pancho comes barreling into Colin’s closet, finding me and alerting Colin with a yelp.
Oh no! Daddy’s home early.
I scramble to pull myself together, and tuck the pictures into my bra that’s still feeling rather constrictive.

Colin comes sauntering into his closet seconds later, raising his eyebrow at finding me sitting on the carpeted floor. Fortunately, he changed shirts, so he doesn’t stink like that horrible cologne. He gives me his best “What the fuck?” look. I usually get this look when Brad and I’ve just come up with the best idea ever. “Any particular reason you’re sitting on the floor of my closet?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow.

“Nope.” I smile, looking up at him as Pancho lies down beside me, placing his head in my lap.

Colin toes off his brown-leather dress shoes first, and places them in the empty spot on his shoe rack. I hold my breath, hoping that he’ll notice my new addition to his closet, but his eyes pass right over them. Next, he slips off his navy slacks, revealing his bare bottom to me.

“Can you ever be troubled to put on underwear?”

He shimmies his behind. “You love it.” His voice is full of mirth.

He tosses the pants and cream linen button-up shirt in the dry-clean basket. I’m not sure why. He couldn’t have worn the new shirt but for a couple of hours. However, now’s not the proper time to question our dry cleaning bill.

Then, he saunters over to his drawer that he keeps his workout shorts in. If the baby shoes were snakes they’d have bitten him by now, but he still doesn’t notice.

Look down!

He slides on a pair of his brand of shorts, and tugs a black sleeveless T-shirt—also his brand—from the hanger.

I hold my breath as he joins me on the floor with a plop, tossing his shirt over his shoulder.

“You’re sure acting strange,” he says as he reaches toward his Nikes.

Time stands still. In mere seconds he’s going to know my secret. He’s going to know that our life is about to change in ways that we can’t even imagine. I hold my breath in anticipation and study his face, craving his reaction as he spots the tiny shoes. A chill drives down my spine, marking this moment.

I know exactly when he spot them. His face shifts from impassive to disbelief in nanoseconds. His head whips around. Eyes, as green as emeralds, blaze at me. His eyebrows meet his hairline as he opens his mouth and closes it, as if he’s a guppy. I watch him swallow and try to speak again.

I’m frozen as he leans forward, picking up the baby shoes, holding them in the palm of his hand. They both fit there perfectly. He marvels at them as if they’re precious jewels. Then he turns back to me with wet eyes. Wonderment fills his voice. “These are baby shoes.”

My face lights up, not needing to confirm the obvious. He turns back and stares at the shoes in his hand. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down—hard. After a couple of heart beats, he whispers, “They go on a baby.”

I gently tease him as I scoot closer and rub my hand on his thigh, feeling his soft leg-hair tickle the tips of my fingers. His body heat is soothing, and an overwhelming feeling of peace washes over me. “I think they’re too small for me, and there aren’t enough of them for Pancho.” My voice is rich with humor and love.

Colin swallows again as he continues to stare at the little Nikes. I can’t tell if he’s in shock, or simply too overwhelmed to comprehend that we’re actually pregnant. “But that means that they’ll go on a baby,” he says after some time.

I reach up with my thumb and brush a tear that’s trickling down his cheek. “Yes. They’ll fit the baby.”

“Our baby,” he whispers as if he’s trying out the words for the first time. “Our baby,” he repeats a little more loudly with awe in his voice.

He turns and stares at me. “Our baby.” His wet eyes glisten, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a beautiful little smile. “You mean that you’re pregnant with our baby.”

I can’t resist, because the air is thick with way too much emotion. “Well, I never said that the baby is yours, but yes. I’m pregnant,” I reply trying to hide my smile.

He pulls me onto his lap, and tickles my sides while I scream. Pancho leaps to his feet and barks incessantly at Colin. His tickle-torture only lasts for a few seconds before he captures my mouth in a soul-searing kiss. It starts out as a sweet kiss and turns into a hunger for each other that is palpable.

His mouth leaves my lips, and he begins trailing delicate kisses along my jaw, over to my right ear, and down my neck following my pulse. When he reaches the sweet spot between my neck and my shoulder, he gives it a nip. A small cry escapes my lips, which further fuels him on. He stops just long enough to unbutton my aqua sleeveless blouse. As my top falls open, exposing my swollen breasts, he lets out a gasp. “What the fuck is in your bra?”

“Oh.” My cheeks blush. “Those are pictures of the baby.”

He reaches into my lingerie and extracts the small, folded sheet of pictures and holds it up, letting them unfold accordion-style. “What? Were these some sort of kinky surprise?” he asks with a smirk.

I begin defending myself, explaining how he came home too soon, and I panicked but he stops my rambling with a wet kiss. “I don’t care. Tell me about these.”

He repositions himself with his legs spread, and I scoot in between, pressing my back against his chest, nuzzling into his pale chest hair. His chin rests on my shoulder as I walk him through each image. He’s entranced with every shot. Asking questions. Pointing at details.

The last picture is the one with our due date. When he sees the date, there’s a brief pause, and then his body stiffens. “How far along are you?”

“Seven weeks, she thinks.” I lean back, hoping to read his eyes.

Before I can say anything, he shakes his head. “But you had a period. You drank in Cabo like a damn fish. You got so drunk that you’ve been hung over for days.” His chin resting on my shoulder tenses becoming painful as it digs into my collarbone.

I attempt to scoot away, but he grasps my hips securing me against him. “I did have a period, and I did drink. Doctor Starr says that we have a very healthy baby with a great heartbeat. There’s no need to worry. And as for my long hangover, it’s called morning sickness, baby. We’ve had a preview of what the next seven weeks will likely be for me.”

“But you got shitfaced, Charlie.” He leaves the statement dangling out there. There’s an accusatory undertone that bothers me more than I care to admit.

Finally, he releases my hips so I’m able to move out of his comforting triangle that now feels hostile, and turn around to look him in the eyes.

“I did get drunk,” I say, in the same voice that I use to pacify my mother when she’s lecturing me about something or other. “If I had an inkling that I was pregnant, I would not have let anything unhealthy touch my lips. What’s done is done, Colin. I can’t reverse time.” I silently add,
But I sure wish that I could.

I pause and collect my thoughts to make sure that I say the next part exactly as I mean it. “Honey, I can’t spend the next seven months living with a neurotic crazy-man. You can’t control this pregnancy. The only thing that I need for you to do to help me through this is be supportive of my needs. Hey! I’ve already decided to give up coffee.” I drop my chin, raising my eyebrow. He knows how much I like my morning coffee. “That’s got to mean something, right?”

“If that means that I want pickles and ice cream at four a.m., I need for you to rush to the store and buy it. I need for you to go to my appointments, and watch this baby grow. What I don’t need is for you to micromanage my life. I might crave greasy, slimy pizza, and you just have to keep your mouth shut and let me eat it.” He grimaces at my food comments, but I watch his face as he processes what I’m saying.

Continuing, I take his hands into mine and run my thumb over his wedding ring. My voice is stronger, and more confident now. “I’m scared to death. My body is no longer mine. It’s been hijacked by Mother Nature. I’m growing another organ, for God’s sake. Mother Nature has now decided that this little tiny bean growing inside of me is more important than me.

“I need your support. I need for you to listen to my fears, and not freak out and try to fix them. I need you to hold me when I can’t sleep. I’ll need you to rub my swollen feet and shave my legs when my stomach will be too big for me to reach around it. I need your love. I don’t need your obsessive, controlling worrying. Got it?”