Except for once. I came down after he was already gone for work, and it took me several minutes to locate it. When I found it, I cried. It was in his unmade bed by his pillow. Seeing it crumpled up where he laid his head was too much. He must’ve been running late that morning, because Jack never left his bed unmade.
I had the sweatshirt on when he came home that evening.The look in his eyes flamed with desire. The charade was up. We both knew the other knew. But we said nothing and continued passing it back and forth without a word.
How do you continue like normal knowing someone desires you that way? You don’t. Which is why the heat blazed between us. We were on the precipice of being consumed by it.
I’d let him hold my hand and wrap his arms around me a few times. My imagination was wild. I wanted to scoot onto his lap and brush my lips against his slow smile. And a thousand other things. Fighting those crazy urges was like fighting a fire while dumping kerosene on it.
An idiotic task. Dangerous.
It was way too easy to forget what was between us. What had happened in the past. Why we broke in the first place.
Right when I would convince myself to keep my distance, Jack would do something unintentional, flinging me back into the war between my heart and mind.
Like two days ago. Jack worked an overnight shift and slept a portion of the day. After working through Kacey’s nap, I flipped on cartoons and dozed off myself. I stirred around 4:30 p.m. to soft voices. Jack, with his hair still messy from sleep, was lying on his stomach on the floor while Kacey drove cars over his body. They were whispering about which of Jack’s shoulders was the gas station. I pretended to be asleep so I could watch them.
Then yesterday, he threw Kacey onto the couch so many times I thought he was going to be sick from giggling.
Jack was far too easy to get comfortable with.
And my sweet baby loved Jack. Loved hisdad.
The knowledge broke me.
Then
I bit my nails to the quick waiting. My stomach rolled and I lost my breakfast before walking in. The queasy feeling wasn’t new. I came to expect it with all my pregnancies, no matter how short-lived they were.
But a unique cocktail of emotions churned in my gut. Heartbreak, fear, hope.
So much hope. Too much.
A soft knock sounded on the door and I snapped into an upright position, swiping my fingers against my jeans.
A maternal fetal medicine doctor stepped in. “Miranda? Hi, welcome back. I’m going to look at your chart real quick.” He typed a few things on the computer before he sat on the rolly stool and swiveled toward me. He smiled. “I have some good news for you.”
Hope swelled.
He took a deep breath, “Your prognosis looks good. We can’t say what will happen for sure, but given your ultrasound and blood work results, we can tell you a few things.” He started counting on his fingers. “The baby has a heartbeat and looks on track for fourteen weeks gestation. Your progesterone levels are healthy. There’s no sign of hematomas. I think your chances are really good. But, given your history of miscarriage, the fact that you’re experiencing some spotting now, your bicornuate uterus, and the fibroids, you need to be on bed rest.”
The air left my lungs in a rush.
Bed rest?
“I think this baby can happen, but I wouldn’t do anything to encourage contractions or labor. We already know your risk of miscarriage is high, but pre-term labor is too.”
He smiled like he didn’t throw a bomb into my life.
“All this is great, wonderful even, but I’m single and have a job. I’m a waitress. It’s all I’ve ever done.”
“I understand, but if you want to up your chances, I would consider doing something else for the time being. The lifting, the being on your feet all day”—he shook his head—“if it were me, I wouldn’t do it.”
I was planning to wait and see what happened to this pregnancy before rushing to tell Jack. But he would want to be a part. The thought of facing him again made me shift in my seat. But I knew he would want this. He’d do what he could to make us work. He’d help me rest to up the baby’s chances. He’d give this family another shot.
After all, a family is what we tried so hard for. But, ultimately, the failure broke us.
Maybe a baby—our long awaited baby—would fix us.
How couldn’t it?
