She was kicking again. I stopped in the middle of the hardware store, ran my hands over my belly. There was a foot, her tiny bum, or maybe the curve of her shoulder. Andrew was so thrilled when the doctor told us we were having a girl, he bought her a pink fishing rod. I pressed gently on my stomach, smiled as I felt her push back and imagined her doing somersaults. A baby ballerina, an acrobat. I hadn’t planned on getting pregnant five months into our marriage, but when Andrew told me how he wanted to have children young so we’d have the energy to keep up with them, then enjoy our retirement, it made sense. I could always focus on my career later.
I sighed, looked back up at the wall. I’d been staring at this display of kitchen faucets for twenty minutes and still couldn’t remember if Andrew wanted brushed nickel or stainless steel. He’d said, “Just get the ones we talked about,” but he’d been in and out of the house so much lately, giving me instructions in passing, and it seemed like most of it leaked out of my head the minute he was gone. He’d been so patient with me. Twice he’d had to come home from the job site to bring me his spare keys. Later he found my set in the freezer. I couldn’t for the life of me think why I’d put them there. Now he puts them on top of my purse every morning.
When he gave me a concerned look and said, “Maybe you should see the doctor. These pregnancy hormones seem to be making you confused,” I said I was just tired.
He’d been tired too. This new project was taking up so much of his time, but he still fussed over me, always making sure I was eating healthy and going for long walks. I was surprised when he came with me to pick out maternity clothes—most men didn’t seem to care about those things. My friend Samantha teased me that I was starting to dress like a forty-year-old soccer mom, but she liked to show off her body. I didn’t need to do that anymore. Andrew’s taste was more grown-up, mature. What man wanted everyone looking at his wife’s cleavage?
The price labels blurred. I blinked a few times, widened my eyes, and tried to force myself to concentrate, but my eyelids still felt so heavy and I couldn’t stop yawning. I thought of our bed, the chicken stew in the Crock-Pot. Maybe I should give up on the faucets.
I ran for my car, one hand holding my coat tight around my stomach, and kept my head down, but the rain still blew hard into my face. The November sky was dark and dreary, rust-colored leaves spinning and floating down the stream rapidly forming beside the road. My feet were soaked, my toes cold. I should’ve worn boots, but I’d thought it would be a quick trip.
I turned the key and the starter made a clicking sound. I tried a few times, feeling more desperate with each attempt. Finally I gave up and reached into my purse for my cell, which I now realized I’d left at home. I huddled in my damp coat and tried to think what I should do. We didn’t have roadside service and my mom couldn’t drive. I was going to have to use the phone inside to call Andrew. But I hated that he’d have to leave work to pick me up.
I slogged back through the puddles. My hair was drenched, and I was cold through to the bone. “Do you mind if I use your phone?” I asked one of the clerks. “My car won’t start.”
“Need a ride?” the man standing behind me in line said.
I turned around—it was Bob Irvine, who ran another construction company in town. Thank God. Now I didn’t have to bother Andrew. I’d known Bob for years. His daughter went to school with my brother. He’d always been nice.
“Sure,” I said. “That would be great.”
I was stepping out of a hot shower and drying off my hair, luxuriating in the steamy warmth of the bathroom, when I heard Andrew’s truck in the driveway. He must have decided to come home early. I pulled on yoga pants and a long sweatshirt, made sure to hang the towel, and straightened the blankets on our bed so there wasn’t one wrinkle. As I passed through the house I did a quick scan, and shoved my shoes into the closet. I liked our house to be tidy even though it was getting harder now that my belly was so heavy that sometimes it felt as though I were going to topple over. My favorite aisle at the grocery store was the one with all the household cleaners. Andrew was always teasing me that I was addicted, but in a way, it was true. If there was a new wax or polish or scrub brush on the market, I had to try it. I liked to stand at the end of a room I’d just cleaned and take in the gleaming wood surfaces, the perfectly vacuumed carpet, the sparkling windows, the lemon-scented air. There was nothing as satisfying.
Andrew was coming in the front door, the rain blowing in after him. I caught a glimpse of the trees outside, bending and swaying wildly. The storm had picked up.