A slow melody, strong major chords. The words come as easily as the tune, and I can hardly write them down fast enough. When I finally come out of my trance, I glance at the clock.
It’s half past six.
She’s later than I thought she would be. My phone’s sitting beside me. The sound’s on. She hasn’t tried to call. No texts. I play around with some rifts and then give up and lay my guitar down.
Quarter till seven.
Finally, a text comes in.
Charlie:I just got back. Let me change and I’ll be right over.
Stupid relief washes over me. And excitement. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I walked her to her cabin late last night, and I miss her like hell.
She won’t stay the night, and I won’t push. I’m going crazy; feasting on her body and then taking long cold showers. Half the time I jack off. Hell, I’m gonna turn into a prune I’m in that shower so much.
But it’s working. I don’t hate myself for touching her.
Tonight feels different. I’m craving her. Not just the physical. I feel a desperation to be with her. To make sure she’s okay. Run my fingers along her jaw, her throat, her lips.
By the time she shows up, I pull her into a hug and study her face. “Everything okay?” I hate the fact that my voice shakes. I know I shouldn’t care this much, but I do anyway.
She looks at me with questions in her eyes. “Everything’s perfect. Mara, my midwife, got called out to attend a birth, so I waited around for the other midwife. Sorry I’m so late.” She’s a little subdued, but even so she’s glowing.
This woman always glows. It’s like the lights in my cabin are brighter now. When she walks in, this place feels like home.
I pour a few ounces of wine for her. It’s all she allows herself. Some nights she doesn’t even touch it. I don’t want her to ever feel like I’m trying to control her. One of the things I love about her is her independent spirit. The way she’s embraced this pregnancy. I just wish she had a better plan for when the baby comes.
Like. One of the thingsI really likeabout her.
She seems tired tonight, so I settle her at the bar and pull out some of the leftovers from last night. A vegetarian lasagna.
“I figure since it’s getting late, we can do Vietnamese tomorrow?” I watch her take a sip of wine. She’s reading from my notebook.
“This is beautiful.” Her eyes shine when she looks up at me. “Did you just write this today?” I nod. This place has been great for my writing. I’ve told her she’s my muse.
“Susan,” she begins, “the other midwife. She did an ultrasound. Squirt’s still feet first, but she says we’ll give him one more week. After that we need to consider other options.”
Charlie and I haven’t discussed the details of her pregnancy so this is new. She has these little concerned wrinkles between her brow. If she wants to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.
“Breech?”
She nods at my question. I don’t know much about this stuff, but I do know the head is supposed to come out first. I make a mental note to google it.
And then I stop myself. I’ll be gone next week.
But I’m here today. I’m here now. “Is there anything we can do? To help the baby turn?”
Charlie swirls the wine around in her glass. I’ve noticed she’s just as satisfied with the aroma of red wine as she is with the taste. “I’ve been trying different yoga positions for the last few weeks, but apparently, they aren’t working.” And then she bit her lip. “Susan has a bunch of ideas. She says some babies have been known to turn…” A glint appears behind her sapphire gaze. “To listen to music.”
I’m not following her.
“If the baby likes music, sometimes they turn to hear it better.”
Mental image… Uh. Wow.
“You want me to sing into your vagina?” I’ve never considered this before. But if it could help, I suppose I’d be game…
“Or I could just put a pair of headphones down there.” She’s grinning ear to ear. At my suspicious look, she holds up both hands. “Honest, I’m not making this up!”
