“Foam,” I say instantly. “She’s not even sweating. I sweat just trying to get my shoes on.”
After the video ends, Stacy goes around the room to check on all our breathing positions. “Deeper breaths, Sabrina. John, please rub a little harder. Place your fingers closer to her neck. Her neck needs more attention.”
His fingers start rubbing a long path along the side of my neck, drawing out a low moan. Shit, that does feel good. I guess Stacy’s right. I did need more attention on my neck.
“Good job, John,” Stacy coos. She straightens and addresses the class. “Now, I’d like you all to imagine a favorite memory. Something very good in your life. Close your eyes and bring that recollection to the forefront. Pin it to the wall of your mind’s eye.”
“I’m envisioning one of us is a Cyclops.” Tucker’s breath tickles my ear, and I start to feel something completely inappropriate downstairs.
“Maybe the one eye is your dick,” I counter.
The couple next to us huffs loudly. We both ignore them this time.
“All this shushing reminds me of the library.” His lips brush my earlobe. “Actually, it’s worse than the library because there’s no tables to hide my hand creeping inside your skirt.”
I squirm. “Shut up.”
“She told me to go to a favorite memory. Most of those involve either my big head or little head between your legs.”
“The important thing,” Stacy says with a raised voice and a pointed glare in our direction, “is to find peace. Now close your eyes and picture your happy place.”
Tucker hums.
Gotta admit, my recent good times all involve Tucker too, but this is definitely not the time or place to get horny. So I pull up the crimson shield and try to channel the euphoria of the news of my law school admission. That was a good memory too.
“Partners, as your mama is breathing, please give her a good massage around the neck and shoulders. Many mamas hold their tension there. Don’t be too gentle. Your mamas are pillars of strength. The next video we will watch is of the birth itself.”
Stacy taps something on the laptop attached to the projector. An image of a pair of giant cooking tongs appears on the screen. Okay, maybe they aren’t cooking tongs, but they look a hell of a lot like them. The camera pans out and we see the tongs being held by a masked surgeon. As the scene unfurls, a gasp fills the room.
A woman’s spread legs appear and it’s not pretty. I cover my eyes. Tucker’s hands tighten around my neck.
Stacy’s cheery voice narrates the scene. “Remember your happy place as we watch these next few videos. The implement being used is not a torture device but rather a forceps. If you’re not able to push with sufficient strength, your doctor will be forced to use these to pull the infant from your uterus, which can affect the shape of your child’s head and possibly lead to brain damage. Keep breathing, mamas. Partners, keep massaging. This is what will happen if you can’t conquer your pain. Remember that your mind controls the outcome.”
There’s another collective intake of breath as the screen shows a scalpel cutting into the flesh of a woman.
Tucker’s grip grows tighter.
“You’re choking me,” I mutter.
He doesn’t release me. If anything, the constriction gets tighter.
“And here we have the C-section. The infant will shy away from the light when the stomach cavity is cut open. The doctor has to reach in and drag the baby out of your stomach. Again, if you are unable to do your duty as a mother and push your baby down the vaginal canal, your doctor will be forced to cut the baby out.”
I tug on Tucker’s fingers. “You’re choking me,” I repeat.
Stacy taps to another scene. A gush of fluid and blood and, is that shit? pours out of the woman on the table.
“This is the most natural thing in the universe as evidenced by births in nature,” she says in a dreamy voice.
A montage of the bloody birthing scenes of different mammals follows.
I grab Tucker’s middle finger and wrench as hard as I can.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, falling away immediately.
“You were choking me!” I snap.
“I thought you said I was joking you!”
We stare at each other, filled with equal parts horror and hilarity.
“Communication is always the key,” Stacy sings from the front.
Laughter wins out. Tucker and I collapse against each other. We can’t stop laughing, and after a few seconds of calling our names and clapping for attention, Stacy finally asks us to leave.
30
Tucker
Fourth of July
“On a scale of one to I’m-ready-to-jump-out-of-this-speeding-truck, where are you on the freak-out scale?”
Sabrina jerks her head away from the car window. She’s been staring at the Boston scenery as if she’s never seen it before, never mind that she’s lived here her whole life.