Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I asked you this morning how you were feeling, and you told me fine.” His voice is soft.
“I was feeling fine, it comes and goes. Usually passes within an hour or so, but today”—I sigh—“it has been the worst.”
“I hate that I’m not there,” he says and I close my eyes. “I’m already not there half the time because of the team travelling, and then when I am home, I want the two of you to be there. I hate that I’m so far away from you.”
“Me too. I got up this morning and I had to make sure both my breasts were still there.” I try and change the morbid conversation about miscarriage. “I thought for sure one would have run away.” He now laughs out.
“How do you do that?” he asks, exhaling.
“What?”
“Make me freak out one second and then completely calm me the next.” His voice is low and rumbly and all I can think about is hugging him.
“It’s a gift,” I try to joke and I know that he’ll just worry. “Do you know how big the baby is right now?”
“No fucking clue. I don’t think I’ve ever been around any pregnant women who I cared about.”
“It’s the size of a raspberry,” I inform him, “that is how small the baby is.” I hold out my own hand and do a small circle. “By next week the size will be double. Also, it looks like a blob.”
“Can you send me the name of the book you are reading? So I can get my own copy.”
“I’ll bring mine with me and we can read it together,” I tell him. “Now you have to go to work and be a superstar and I have to go and eat some more saltines and drink some ginger ale.”
“We’re leaving right after the game. It’ll be late, so I’ll only call you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I reply, a little disappointed, “have a good game.”
“I will. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I tease him, “I have to check my schedule and see if I can pencil you in.” When he doesn’t say anything, I cave. “Okay, fine, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I agree, but neither of us hangs up. “You going to hang up anytime soon?”
“I really want to hug you right now,” he repeats softly and I blink the lone tear away, “and then maybe make out with you.”
“And cop a feel,” I add in, making him laugh.
“Definitely copping a feel,” he assures me and I hear a knock at his door. “I got to go.”
“Finally,” I sing out the word. “I’ve been trying to get you off the phone for the last five minutes.”
“Book your flight,” he reminds me, “and send me the information.”
“Don’t you have to go?”
“Later.” He disconnects the phone and all I can do is stare at it.
“What the hell is happening right now?” I ask the phone. “Are you really going to move across the country for him?” I ask myself. “You aren’t doing it for him,” I correct myself. “You are doing it for the baby also.” I put my hand on my stomach. “I mean you work from home anyway and there are days that you don’t even leave your apartment.” I tap my belly. “Besides, if he could move, he would without even a second thought.” I smile at that, knowing that he would literally move without even blinking an eye. “And ever since you’ve been back home,” I sigh out, “you’ve been lonely without him.” I’m about to say something else to myself when I hear the doorbell ringing.
Smiling when I get to the door and seeing it’s my parents, I open the door. “There she is,” my mother coos and stops smiling. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, why?” I ask. She slowly comes into the apartment, her hands going to my shoulders as she searches my eyes.
“You look ill,” she declares, looking back over at my father. “Doesn’t she look ill?”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “She looks fine,” my father says. “Now, are you going to hug her, or am I?”
“She doesn’t look fine,” my mother hisses at him and then puts her hand to my forehead. “She’s not hot.”
“That’s because she’s fine,” he repeats, leaning in front of her and kissing my cheek. “Hey, baby girl.” He hugs me with my mother in the middle of the hug. “My two girls.”
“Dad, you’re squishing me”—my stomach lurches—“and I have to pee.” I make up the excuse as I run away from them and close the door, Inhaling through my nose and out through my mouth. “Don’t do this.” I put my hand on my stomach. “Not today.” I turn on the water faucet, wetting my hand and then putting it on the back of my neck. “Especially not today, you are going to have to tough it out until they leave if you are going to have me throw up.” I look down at my stomach in the mirror. “Do we have a deal?”