“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I . . . felt something.”
“The baby’s moving?” Natalie asked with a smile. Brooke gave her sister a helpless look, and Natalie tilted her head, slightly. “You haven’t felt it before?”
“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “Maybe. It’s a little like bubbles moving around.” She paused and then lowered her tone so the tables around them wouldn’t hear her next words. “I thought it might just be gas.”
Natalie laughed. “I thought the exact same thing. Here,” she said, scooting out from her side of the booth to come sit next to Brooke. She held out her hand, hovering over Brooke’s belly. “Is it okay if . . . ?”
Brooke nodded, indicating that it was fine for Natalie to touch her, and then her sister set a gentle palm on top of her burgeoning stomach, moving it lightly from one spot to the next.
“There!” Brooke said, when she felt the movement again. She pictured the flash of a silver fish underwater, and imagined her daughter swimming around inside her. She took Natalie’s hand and pressed it on top of where the sensation had been. The two women held their breath—waiting, both of them smiling—and Brooke felt more gratitude than she knew her heart could hold. Even though seeing her mother hadn’t ended as she’d hoped it would, along the way she and Natalie had found each other. And the next time her baby moved, Brooke’s eyes welled up and she hugged her sister, excited for what the future might bring.
Jennifer
After Brooke and Natalie left, I dissolved into hysterical tears. Evan didn’t push me to talk, he only led me inside the house, took off my clothes, and put me to bed. He curled up behind me and murmured into my ear that everything was going to be okay. I pressed myself against his body, trying to feed off of my husband’s inherent strength. Eventually, he fell asleep, but even as exhausted as I was, I lay awake into the early hours of morning, staring into the dark, replaying the events of the evening inside my head.
“I think it’s the flu,” I told Chandi the following morning when I called to tell her I wouldn’t be coming in to work. I’d cried so much the night before, my sinuses were plugged and my voice sounded as though I’d gargled rocks; there was no need to fake being ill.
“Oh no,” Chandi said. “Poor you. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll have Paula and the other techs handle what they can of your appointments and reschedule the rest.”
“I might be out a few days,” I said. My body ached, feeling as though it had been poisoned.
“I won’t put anything on your calendar until Friday,” she promised.
I thanked her and then hung up, rolling over to tuck the covers under my chin. Two of our dogs, Gypsy and Cleo, curled against me near my feet, while their brothers, Sammy and Chuck, sat next to the bed, whining a little and wagging their tails, unsure what to do. It was seven o’clock, and typically, both Evan and I were in the kitchen drinking our coffee by now; my staying in bed was far from our normal routine.
Evan stood across the room, already dressed in tan Carhartts, black, steel-toed work boots, and a brown flannel shirt. His brow furrowed, watching me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I just need to sleep.”
“Okay,” he said, but the word was full of doubt. He took a couple of steps closer and then crouched down so our faces were level. His hair was still wet from the shower; his skin smelled of the woodsy, pine-scented soap he preferred. “Should I take the dogs?”
“No,” I said. “Leave them, please. They’ll take care of me.” As though on cue, both Sammy and Chuck leapt back onto the bed, circled twice, and lay down. Gypsy lifted her head from the mattress and set it on top of my leg. Cleo didn’t move. None of our dogs weighed more than twenty pounds, but there was a reason Evan and I had a California king-size bed—we needed the extra room. “See?”
“All right.” Evan smiled, then leaned over for a quick kiss. “I’ll come and check on you at lunch. You need to eat.”
I nodded, despite the fact that the thought of food was enough to turn my stomach.