Birthquake Read online

  Jeff looks toward Tara thoughtfully and his expression softens. “Tara …” Jeff says sincerely, grabbing her attention. “I know you just said you never would … but right now, you’ve actually touched me.”

  Just as we open the front door to slip into the rainy night, we overhear the rest of their conversation. “I’m going to head down to the man cave for a bit,” Cameron says from the hallway behind us.

  “Like hell you are. The only man cave you need is right here between my thighs. Now get your sweet ass over here and help me clean up. Then, and only then will you get a pass to the beloved man cave.”

  Cameron groans jokingly.

  Jeff and I look at each other and exchange silent laughter. “If they’re not careful, Tara is going to be knocked up right alongside you.” He closes the door behind us, and we assess the storm from the coverage of their front porch.

  “The last thing this world needs is more little Carmichaels raising hell. Let’s get going.”

  Jeff makes a mad sprint to open the passenger side door for me as I walk quickly behind him. Just as I’m about to climb in, he spins me around and takes my face in his hands. The look in his eyes says it all.

  He hesitates for half a heartbeat and then his lips are wild upon mine. Jeff’s grip is firm. His tongue is frantic. And there’s a carnal fire building inside us both that the storm cannot put out.

  The rain beats down over both of us, and we’re quickly getting soaked in this summer storm, melting into each other. He kisses me hard and deep, and even though the frigid rain makes us both shiver, neither of us are cold. It’s not about us standing in the storm. It’s about us feeling the rain.

  When Jeff finally pulls away, we’re both trying to catch our breath. “What was that for?”

  The edges of his lips curl up in delight. “Nothing, I was just thinking about something Cam said earlier,” he says innocently.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of my best friend’s husband every time you kiss me like that.”

  “Nah …” Jeff reaches around my waist to pinch my butt. “I just wanted to see if I could make you twice as wet. Now let’s get you home so I can do all sorts of unmentionable things to you.”

  PERSONAL SPACE

  “I love this picture of you two.” I smile at the framed photo that Cam and Tara took after a few weeks of dating. They look so young and blissfully in love.

  It wasn’t always like that, though.

  “Me, too.” She smiles at the image of her getting a piggyback ride from Cam during the annual beer festival held by the local breweries.

  Cam and Tara met at a bar in the Power and Light District of Kansas City shortly after we’d all graduated from the University of Kansas. Tara was all about spreading her wild oats and jumped off the deep end. “I want to give my vagina the wild adventure it deserves!” she had said. In an intoxicated stupor, she brought Cameron home to our apartment on the Plaza for a night of regretless tomfoolery. Later that night, they had sex for the first time, and in the heat of the moment, she slapped him clear across the face so hard her handprint left a lasting mark.

  When I’d heard the screams, I ran into her room with a baseball bat ready to come to my best friend’s defense. Cam was tied to Tara’s headboard, and she was wearing what I can only assume were his Gumby boxer shorts.

  “Why do you keep hitting me, Kandi?!” he shouted, completely oblivious to my presence.

  “I’m hitting you because you’re calling me another woman’s name! Why do you keep calling me Kandi?!” she asked as she slapped his leg in anger.

  “Because that’s what you told me your name was!”

  Tara stopped dead in her tracks and quickly untied him from her bedpost. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” Her voice was sobering, yet sheepish and alarmed.

  I slowly backed out of her room and closed the door behind me, staying nearby just in case. And by staying nearby, I really mean pressing my ear up against the door eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  There was an awkward pause. And I smiled because I knew there was no easy way for Tara to get herself out of this mess.

  “My name isn’t Kandi. I give fake names when I’m out at the bars to distance myself from the creepers.”

  More awkward silence.

  “But you’re not a creeper. I, uh … I actually think you’re kind of cool.”

  There’s an indisputable sincerity in her voice, and the next part of the conversation happened in hushed tones, and I was unable to make out what they were saying. Just as I was heading back to my bedroom, I heard Cam say, “God, you’re so hot. Get over here.” And a few moments later, the earlier screams were replaced with moans and the undeniable sound of sweaty flesh slapping together.

  I slept with a pillow over my head that night.

  From what Tara had told me the next morning, she finished taming the wild beast and then sent him on his way, keeping the Gumby boxers for good measure. She’d genuinely felt bad about what happened, and was even a little upset when she didn’t hear from him for three weeks. Until one day, I came home from the grocery store and they were on the couch sharing a pint of ice cream. He kept calling her Kandi, and she let him.

  They’ve been inseparable ever since.

  And Kandi is now the name of her sexual alter ego whenever they need a little spice in the bedroom.

  “How’d the doctor appointment go?” she asks, breaking me from the memory.

  “It went well. Everything looks good.”

  “Are you going to find out the gender?”

  I shake my head. “Everything in life is so planned these days. We thought we’d leave this as the last great surprise. Plus I think there’s something really cool about the notion of having the doctor call out ‘It’s a …!’ in the middle of the moment.”

  “That is so freakin’ awesome, Hen.”

  “Though Jeff is convinced it’s a boy. I’m not sure what he’ll do if this kid actually ends up being a little girl.”

  “He’d love her all the same. Probably even more since she’d be his little girl.”

  I look around at Tara and the incredible life she’s built with Cam, and I am so happy for my friend. If I can find a fraction of her happiness with Jeff and our baby, my life will be a resounding success.

  “How do you do it?” I say, completely out of the blue.

  “Do what?”

  “The mom thing. How do you do it? Because I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about this lately and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  I follow her to the couch and move an empty sippy cup, a toy truck, and a pile of well-loved books to the coffee table so I can sit down, too. It’s nothing but chaos and love here, and I wish that motherhood could be like this for everyone.

  “Nobody does. The day your child is born, a mother is born, too. And we’re all born exactly the same way: excited, clueless and terrified. But you figure it out because that’s what parents do. As much as you want the baby to come tattooed with an instruction manual on its ass, it doesn’t. And no matter how much you beg for the postpartum nurses to come home with you to make sure you’re changing diapers properly and that your baby latches on correctly when nursing, they won’t. So you simply do what every parent before you has done. You wing it.”

  I know she’s right. But the notion of fake it till you make it when the life of an unsuspecting infant is in your hands seems a little risky. Though I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about the mom thing after the fact, or the disgusting process of actually getting the baby out of my body. She must sense the underlying fear in my eyes.

  “I know this won’t be the last time I tell you this, but you’re gonna be a great mom, Henley. And if ya fuck up with this one, I’ve got a kid or two to spare.” She winks at me.

  With that we hear the thunderous footsteps of a three foot four inch, freckled-face boy barrel down the hallway and finally stop in front of Tara, stamping his
foot to command her attention.

  “May I help you, sir?” Tara folds her arm and stares curiously at Wes. He’s the youngest of the three boys by about three minutes, and he does everything he can to make sure he has the most attention from his parents. They’re having a staring contest with an unspoken conversation, and I think that Tara is actually winning.

  “You’re in my personal space, woman!” Wes purses his lips and glares at his mother.

  My mouth drops and I don’t bother containing my laughter. I’m pretty sure keeping a straight face when your offspring has outrageously naughty — yet hysterical — behavior is going to be one of the hardest parts of parenthood. It’s surreal hearing this three-year-old speak like a pissed-off grown man.

  “Excuse me? What did you just say?” Tara puts her fists on her hips and looks down at this little curly-haired blond cherub in astonishment.

  Surely little Wes is going to cower. Right?

  “I said you’re in my personal space, woman!” He annunciates each word as clearly as possible, which doesn’t say much for a three-year-old.

  “You listen here, Wesley Kane Carmichael, you came from my personal space. Hell, you and your tribe of brothers inhabited my personal space for more than seven months. Don’t you dare tell me to get out of your personal space.”

  Wes’s eyes grow wide, and he stands frozen, listening to his mother. I feel like I should grab a pen and paper and start taking notes.

  “I don’t care how old you grow, you are in for a lifetime of me in your personal space. The first time you take a girl out on a date? I’m going to be there in the restaurant or movie theatre watching you. College? You will no doubt feel my presence on campus, but you’ll never know where I am. And the day you’re all up in some special woman’s personal space? I want you to have visions of you in my personal space. I will, no doubt, be the most effective birth control in the history of contraceptives. So don’t you dare lecture me about being in your personal space. You started this! I’m your mother. I brought you into this world, and I can take you right back out of it!”

  She hammers him with a stern look that instills the fear of God in me. Wes’s lip quivers and he scampers out of the room, looking back over his shoulder with a terrified expression on his face. I bite my lip hard and do everything in my power to not lose my shit right here in the heat of this magical moment of motherhood. But as soon as he’s out of sight, Tara and I both start laughing.

  “I’m really impressed, Tara!” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and gasp for air. She’s fighting a toothy grin.

  She takes a sip of her iced tea and smiles at me. “Oh?”

  “I don’t know how you got through that with such a straight face. That was epic.”

  “I’ve got years of practice with Cameron.”

  THE WAKE-UP CALL

  “Henley, sweetie. Are you awake?” I feel Jeff’s lips right against my ear and my body shivers at the heat of his breath on my skin. “Honey? It’s morning.”

  He’s a little too chipper for the sun not even being up. I groan and pull the comforter over my shoulder tightly. Delicately, he traces tiny circles between my shoulder blades with his fingertip. I want to be annoyed, but I can’t help but melt at his touch.

  “Heeeeenley,” he sings softly.

  “What time is it?” I yawn, begrudgingly.

  “It’s six thirty-three. Rise and shine.”

  “What the hell, Jeff? Go back to bed.”

  This boy is as dumb as a rock if he thinks he’s going to earn any brownie points by waking me up at this ungodly hour. Jeff curls up close to me and begins kissing the exposed skin on the back of my neck. I immediately feel his rock hard length pressing into my leg.

  Yep.

  Stupidity confirmed.

  His dick has stolen seven inches worth of blood from his brain.

  “Not this morning, babe. I’ve gotten up to pee no less than eight times since I saw the clock turn three A.M. I’m cranky, and I haven’t shaved my legs in two weeks.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about, babe?”

  I roll my eyes as he feigns ignorance, then in a huff, I reach out to grab his cock to show him exactly what I’m talking about, except the palm of my hand wraps around the remote that was wedged between us.

  Oh.

  “Hen, I’m not in the mood for TV. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “Can’t it wait? We can talk when I wake up at a normal hour. You know, after I’ve had the only eight ounces of caffeine I’ve been granted to consume each morning.” And those eight ounces of caffeine I require daily to make sure I don’t stab anyone. God, I miss drinking a full coffeepot on my own. Stupid doctor rules about pregnancy.

  “No.”

  I sigh and then roll over to face him, raising my eyebrows. This had better be good.

  A softness overtakes his expression, and his eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles. “Did you know that exactly one year ago today, at this exact moment … well, this moment two minutes ago when I first tried waking you up, we first met?”

  And suddenly, I’m the asshole.

  I love how this crazy, thoughtful man loves me even when I’m at my worst. “I … I didn’t realize that was today.” I smile fondly at the memory of Jeff taking the seat next to me on the plane to Denver. I was headed there for work, and he was off to visit his family and celebrate his brother’s engagement. I had planned on working on a presentation during the short ninety-minute flight from Kansas City, but instead, I listened to him nervously prattle about nothing and everything. It was quite endearing. I slipped him my number as we deplaned and told him to call me when he was back in Kansas City if he ever wanted to meet up for drinks.

  “Yep, it was today. I overslept and nearly missed the flight, and the first available seat I saw was next to a gorgeous, fiery, redhead. I never imagined the course of my life would change all because I’d accidentally turned my alarm off. If I had been there on time, I would have been one of the first people on the plane, finding a way to bogart an entire row to myself, and our paths would never have crossed.”

  I giggle and lean over to kiss the tip of his nose. “Happy day-we-met-iversary, Jeff. It’s a shame you couldn’t oversleep this morning too, babe. I am seriously sleep deprived.”

  “I know, but this will only take a minute.” He sits up and reaches over to his nightstand and takes out a small slip of paper, then hands it to me. I push myself up and wipe the sleep away from my eyes. I scan the small square, and it’s the stub from his boarding pass from last year.

  After all this time, he kept it.

  “Flip it over.”

  Scrawled in his chicken scratch in faded blue ink he wrote, Today I met Henley. The woman I’m going to marry.

  My breath hitches and when I look up, he is down on one knee on the floor holding the most ridiculous rock I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, then swallow hard, suddenly wide awake.

  “Henley Louise Carson, it took an hour and a half at ten thousand feet to fall in love with you one year ago this morning. And now my favorite part of every morning is waking up next to you and falling in love with you all over again. Would you give me the privilege of spending every morning, noon, and night with you for the rest of our lives?”

  “Oh my God! ” Excitement floods my veins like a runaway train, and all I want to do is kiss him in spite of my horrendous morning breath. “Oh my God, yes!”

  Jeff takes my hand and slips the princess cut stone encased in white gold onto my ring finger — except it gets stuck at the knuckle.

  “I’m sorry, I swell in the morning. Just one of the many joys of pregnancy.” I laugh with tears of happiness prickling my eyes.

  He smiles, then kisses my knuckle, licking it in the process so he can maneuver the ring on the rest of the way. “It’s okay, we can get it resized.”

  Jeff climbs back up onto the bed, and I throw my arms around him tightly. We quickly lose balance and fal
l backward into a pile of pillows. The awkward way he lands on top of me triggers an urgent and insatiable need to relieve myself.

  “Oh, shit! Move! Now! I gotta pee!” I playfully swat at his chest, pushing him away.

  He howls with laughter as he rolls onto his back and I hustle into the bathroom to avoid embarrassing myself right here in front of my fiancé.

  Fiancé.

  I roll the strange word around in my mind while I admire Jeff’s excellent taste in fine jewelry from the confines of the porcelain throne. The ring truly really is stunning and looks enormous on my delicate fingers. But the moment my body feels relief, my mind takes a hairpin turn, and those nagging fucking voices taunt me.

  What if he’s proposing out of obligation?

  Because if he’s doing this because he thinks I want him to, or because he feels he has to, I will be devastated. Getting married just because I’m pregnant is a terrible idea. I’ve thought a lot about all of the heart to hearts Tara and I have had about Jeff. And I know without any shadow of a doubt, that he’s the Chachi to my Joanie and the Ross to my Rachel. This isn’t the plot to some modern day rendition of For Keeps. Is it?

  “Henley? You okay in there?” Jeff calls out from his bed.

  I look down at the floor and see a pile of toilet paper shredded into confetti. I hadn’t even realized I was ripping it apart.

  I know I’m stalling.

  And I know I need to set the record straight about this so I don’t spend the next lifetime wondering.

  “Yeah, I’m fine! Just a minute!”

  I lean down and pick up the scraps of toilet paper and flush them down with uncertainty I felt moments ago. When I come back to bed, Jeff is propped up on his arm, watching me intently.

  “Are you’re sure you’re not just proposing because I’m pregnant?” I mean, I’ve always known that Jeff and I would one day get married. I just figured it wouldn’t be for a while.

  Jeff looks at me earnestly and pats the empty spot next to him on the bed. I snuggle into his chest, and he threads his fingers between mine. “First of all, we’re pregnant, not just you. You may be carrying my baby, but we’re a team. We’re in this together — I am with you every step of the way. Where you walk, I walk. And secondly, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”