“What’s wrong,” he says, an edge to his voice, “is that you seem to be going forward with a business-as-usual attitude. And you can’t, Lexi. Yes, you’re fine and everything is fine. But you’re like ten weeks pregnant. It’s going to be something totally different when you’re twenty-five weeks pregnant. Thirty weeks.”
“That’s months from now!” I protest.
He turns to me, shaking his head. “Yes, but you have to be prepared for that and you’re not. You’re still planning to go on tour like nothing has changed—and whether you want to admit it or not—everything has changed.”
“Everything hasn’t changed!” I snap back, hands on my hips as I glare at him. “Just one little thing.”
“Little?” His eyes widen. “One little thing? You’re calling your pregnancy little? A pregnancy that’s essentially a miracle?”
I roll my eyes in annoyance. “I’m not calling the pregnancy a little thing, but my ability to continue doing what I’m doing is only impacted in a small way. I can still sing. I can still tour. I’ll adjust when I have to, but there’s no need to change anything now and I don’t understand what you’re all worked up about.”
“I’m worked up about the fact that even though there are no issues now, this pregnancy is technically high-risk because of the unknowns. This pregnancy is something we didn’t even allow ourselves to dream of, and you’re acting like it isn’t even on your radar!”
“I’m the one carrying it, so I’m pretty damn sure it’s on my radar!”
He’s starting to piss me off, especially since it’s so rare we raise our voices to each other.
“Then act like it!” He throws up his hands. “Have you talked to Sasha about when to end the tour? And what could happen if you suddenly have to stop because of unforeseen health issues? Do you have a plan for all the appointments you’re going to miss? The ultrasounds and bloodwork, the gestational diabetes test, and all the other things I’ve read about?”
“Not yet,” I say through clenched teeth. “But it’s still new. I haven’t had time.”
“You haven’t had time?” He shakes his head. “But you’ve had time to rehearse with your band, record with Crimson Edge, and even perform at the game tonight. But no time to make plans for your health and the health of our baby?”
“You’re being dramatic,” I snap, losing my patience. “There’s nothing wrong with me or the baby. Dr. Diaz said we’re fine and not to change anything unless and until I have to. What am I supposed to do? Sit home and stare at the walls for the next seven months?”
“Maybe!”
Seriously?
I’m mad but now my feelings are hurt too.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” I suddenly feel like I’m going to cry but I’ll be damned if I’ll do it in front of him. “Are you willing to stop playing hockey for the next seven months to sit home and stare at the walls with me?"
"I'm not the one who’s pregnant.”
“Exactly. You are not the one who’s pregnant, so you don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, and certainly not what I should or shouldn’t feel. Unless you’re willing to walk away from hockey for the rest of my pregnancy, I’m not walking away from my career either.” I turn on my heel and stomp out of the bathroom. I grab my pillow and the extra blanket from the edge of the bed and go down the hall to the guest room.
We have never, in all the years we’ve been together, slept apart unless we were physically not in the same place.
I want to slam the door, but it feels like overkill.
Instead, I sit on the bed and clutch my pillow to my chest, trying not to cry.
Zaan has always been the most caring, supportive partner anyone could ask for. The fact that he’s suddenly feeling the need to tell me what to do rubs me the wrong way. Sasha and I have a meeting planned to talk about the details but the last time we talked about it we left things that she would come up with options and we’d discuss things again in a few weeks.
The truth is, I don’t know how I’m going to be feeling. How my energy is going to be. If I’ll need to slow down or adjust the set by sitting down for part of it. There are a lot of unknowns, and it bothers me that he wants me to make decisions now about things I can’t yet predict.
There’s a knock on the door and I call out a quiet invitation.
“I’m sorry.” Zaan comes in looking contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Especially not with me leaving in the morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry too.” Now I really want to cry.
He shifts from one foot to the other before taking a step toward me. “Please don’t sleep in here tonight. I know you’re mad at me, and I’m frustrated with you too, but I really don’t want you to sleep in here. We’ve never slept apart before, and I don’t want to start now. Please.” He holds out his hand and there’s no universe where I don’t take it.
“All right.”
“We don’t have to talk, okay? I just want to hold you.”
