She laughs when she hears the stress in my tone. No lie, I’m edgy as hell right now. I keep picturing all these instruments of torture coming for her belly.
“Just the normal stuff. The nurse will check my weight—speaking of, you are NOT allowed to look!” I laugh and nod my head, willing her to continue. “Then they’ll make me pee in a cup—once again, no looking at that either—then check my blood pressure and ask me a million questions about how I’ve felt the last month. Then the doctor will come in and ask me the same questions all over again. It’s really kind of boring. She’ll move my belly around a bunch, measure it, and then ask me more questions.”
“That’s it? Well, uh . . . how are they supposed to tell you what the baby is if all they do is touch your belly? Is there some way to tell by moving it around?”
She laughs, the music of her amusement dancing around inside of my Jeep. “Baby, I’ll get an ultrasound. They just place some goopy gel on my stomach and place a little wand over it, move it around, and take a bunch of measurements. Then, if the baby is cooperating, we will get to see between his or her legs and hopefully know what we’re having.”
Hearing her say we’re causes my heart to leap in my chest. Goddamn, this woman unmans me.
“I like the sound of that,” I tell her honestly.
“What? That I get some goopy gel?” she snickers.
“No, Sunshine—you said we’re. What we’re having. I love how that sounds.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I look over at her. Once again, she’s bawling, but this time, she’s trying her hardest to keep her shit together. I burst out laughing, earning me a light smack to my arm.
“This isn’t funny!” she smarts.
“You’re right. It’s hilarious.”
She smacks me again, but I notice that her tears have dried up and she’s looking out the window with a small smirk on her lips.
*
We’ve been sitting in these damn narrow chairs for the last hour. I shift a few times uncomfortably, wishing I could get out of this room. There are at least fifteen other pregnant chicks in here. Some have bigger bellies than Chelcie’s, but some are huge—so huge that I swear I can see their babies moving. I look back over at Chelcie’s belly again with what must be a look of horror because she starts laughing lightly.
“Would you relax?” she says with a hushed tone.
I lean over so that my lips are right up against her ear. “Sunshine, would you be able to relax if all you could picture was a little alien popping out of one of their bellies? Just like in that damn Spaceballs movie. I swear to God, if that happens, you’re on your own because I’m out of here.”
She starts laughing loudly, drawing the attention of the room—well, the part of the room that wasn’t already undressing me with their eyes.
“Goddammit, I’m in some weird hormone bubble and I feel violated. Oh so violated,” I complain under my breath, earning even more giggles out of Chelcie. I try to scowl at her, but that only causes her to laugh louder.
She holds her hands up in surrender, trying her hardest to calm down. I just shake my head and look back down at the pregnancy magazine she handed me when we sat down. I think I’ve been reading the same article for the last thirty minutes.
What in the fuck is a mucus plug?
I’m so out of my element right now.
“You two are just lovely together. Congratulations on your baby,” the woman next to me says. “I’m here with my daughter. Her husband is overseas—bless his heart. Anyway, I’m here to be support if she needs me. It’s so wonderful to see a couple so in love.”
“Thank you, ma’am. And please tell your son-in-law thank you for his service.”
She looks over at me with a question in her pale eyes before a wide smile takes over her weathered face. “What branch were you, son?”
“Marines, ma’am. One tour.”
She smiles kindly, her hand reaching out to pat mine. “Such a fine young man. I’ll pass that on. And thank you for your bravery, honey. It takes a strong soul to be able to do what y’all do.”
I swallow the uncomfortable lump in my throat and try to think of an appropriate response. I’m saved from replying when an attractive woman wobbles out and walks over. She smiles and asks the older woman if she’s ready. I get one more pat on my hand before she gets up and leaves.
I look back down at my hands holding this stupid magazine and try to get my head together. If only she knew how broken my soul has been.
“She’s right, you know,” Chelcie whispers.
I don’t respond. I just sit there, reach out, and grasp her hand with mine, giving her a tight squeeze. I’ve never felt brave. I’ve felt compelled to give Coop a better life, to fight with him for our freedom in more ways than one. But I always felt like a fraud because I joined the Marines to make sure I was there for Coop, and I’ve always felt incredibly selfish for my motivations.