The couple next to us gives us a death glare, and the woman shushes us.
“Oops, I think we offended them.”
“It would be very helpful,” the instructor yells. “If everyone would focus on the task at hand, and save any comments for the end of the class.”
Abby’s cheeks flush red, and she looks back at me with an exasperated expression. But the instructor continues on without further scolding.
“For this next one, I want the birthing partners to sit up on their knees, legs spread slightly apart so mom can settle in between them.”
Abby and I both go wide-eyed–I don’t think either of us thought this was what we signed up for.
“Just do it so we don’t get in trouble again,” she says under her breath, scooting closer to me.
I nod, assuming the same position as all the other partners in the room. Abby turns around so she’s facing away from me and settles into me, her back flush to my chest, forearms resting on my thighs.
This is so weird.
We hug, and sometimes her feet find their way to being propped up in my lap when we watch TV, we've even shared a bed, but this is different. This feels downright intimate. Every other couple looks perfectly relaxed, but Abby and I both sit stiffly, still as statues.
Because you’re not a couple, and this isso weird.
“Now moms, what I want you to do is bring your arms up and lock your fingers behind your partner’s neck. Partners, reach around and find a supportive position on her bump.”
Neither of us move. If I thought it was intimate before, this is entering completely uncharted territory.
“Come on, you two,” the instructor says, weaving through the mats closer to us. “PDA might not be your thing, but this is an informational class. And let’s be honest, we all know how we ended up here.”
“Oh, I’m not–”
“He’s just a friend,” she says quickly. “I didn’t have anyone else to come with. I didn’t think there’d be an interactive element.”
“Oh,” the instructor says, eyebrows raised in shock. “How strange. I mean, I’ve just never had a non-couple in my class before. I suppose you can be excused from this position.”
She walks away, and Abby looks furious.
“Strange? She makes it sound like I’m some kind of freak for having you here.”
“You’re not a freak,” I say reassuringly. “Everyone’s situation is different.”
“Well I refuse to miss out on anything because of my ‘different’ situation,” she huffs. “So can we just try this, please? I just don’t,” she hesitates. “I don’t want to be robbed of any experience just because I don’t have her dad to do these things with.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “Sure, let’s do it.”
We assume the position, and I am acutely,painfullyaware of every point of contact between us right now. I’ve been with plenty of women, but I’ve never felt so vulnerable with anyone. It feels…right. It feelsgood.Maybe a little too good.
Careful, bud. You’re just a stand-in. This isn’t real, even if it feels like it right now.
I take a deep breath, trying to clear those thoughts out of my mind. I don’t want this kind of connection with Abby. Or at least I want to not want it. But the seed of thoughts of Abby I've been avoiding takes root deep in my psyche right now, and I have a bad feeling that it’s not going anywhere.
“Now for some breathing exercises–inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”
I feel the rise and fall of Abby’s chest with each breath she takes, and I focus really hard onnotfocusing on those movements. It’s a little too easy to remember a time when her chest was heaving from a different kind of breathing.
Baseball. The Periodic table. Whale species. Literally anything but that.
“Partners, join in. And don’t be afraid to vocalize with your exhales, really tune in to that bodyfeeling.”
“Yeah, Jack, tune into your bodyfeeling,” she teases. This time I’m the one snorting, causing several heads to turn our direction.
