She takes Lena by the hand and pulls her to her feet, and the two begin to dance. When the lyrics start, both women sing along, stopping to clap at the appropriate times and then laughing when they do. I can’t help smiling at their antics. It makes my chest tight with a bittersweet happiness to watch them.
Speaking just loud enough that my voice can be heard over the music, I tell our baby, “I think this is your mom’s best friend’s way of saying she loves her. You’ll understand later, when I introduce you to the show Friends. When you’re older,” I add. “Much older.”
Nostalgia warms me as I record and listen. Lena and I watched the comedy together in our early years together. After all this time, we still quote things to each another occasionally. Little insignificant bits from the show like “It’s a moo point”, “What kind of scary-ass clowns came to your birthday?”, and “How you doin’?” which never fail to bring an answering smile. It’s one of the million-and-one things we’ve shared in our life together that once seemed silly and inconsequential, but now seems painfully profound.
When the song is complete, the two hug and laugh before Nissa yanks the wig off Lena’s head and vanishes, right back out the door she just burst through a few minutes ago. My guess is that she’ll go straight home and cry. We all deal with our grief in silence and in private, in deference to Lena.
But we still have to do it.
Lena is still grinning when she walks over to me and drops down onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You’re my lobster,” she says, rubbing her cold nose against mine.
“And you’re my everything,” I reply, my gut constricting at the trivial yet meaningful phrase. She is my lobster. She is my everything, and she always will be.
Even after she’s gone.
I wish not for the first time that someone else were the videographer so we could capture moments such as these. I know there will come a time when these memories will start to fade, when I will forget what it feels like to hold her or what it feels like to look into her warm brown eyes, and the idea is crushing. I don’t want to forget, but I know that as much as I try to commit every tiny detail to memory, they won’t withstand the test of time with much clarity. At least not all of them. It’s just not possible.
But if I had my way, I wouldn’t forget one single second of the time I’ve spent with my wife.
Already I can tell that forgetting will be like losing Lena time and time again. And I have no idea how I’ll bear it. I don’t even know how I’m going to get through it once.
I sweep my hand, resting on Lena’s hip, around to her growing belly, which I cup with my palm.
This is how I’ll get through it, I think.
Her baby.
Our baby.
And that’s all I’ll have left of my Lena.
Sixteen
I Got the Girl
Lena
A legion of butterflies flutters in my stomach when Nate shifts the car into park outside the obstetrician’s office. I take a deep, shaky breath and Nate reaches over to squeeze my hand.
“Try to stay calm. The last thing we need is for your blood pressure to be wacked out when you get up there.”
He grins tolerantly at me.
“I know, but I’m just so excited!”
“I know, baby. I am, too.”
“God, I hope she can tell this time.”
On our previous visits, the doctor hasn’t been able to sex the baby because he or she won’t open its legs in just the right way. As much as I try not to be, I’ve been very disappointed, but evidently that’s doing nothing to hamper my excitement now. I’m allll wound up!
“Maybe that sip of my coffee that I saw you sneak this morning will help.”
I tuck my chin sheepishly. “You saw that?”
“I’ve got eyes everywhere,” he states, going on to mimic the recognizable tune from The Twilight Zone.
“You must because I’m damn sneaky when I wanna be.”
“You only think you’re sneaky,” he teases.
“I can be sneaky when I want to be.”
“Like the time you tried to throw me a surprise party and forgot to tell everyone to park around the block? Or like the time you tried to kidnap me for our anniversary and called my line instead of my boss’s for directions? Or like every single Christmas when I trip you up and get you to tell me what’s under the tree?”
“Okay, fine! Sneaky isn’t my strong suit, but I read on the Internet that a little bit of caffeine can get the baby excited and moving around. And if the baby is excited and moving around, we can see between its legs.”
“I can tell you what the sex is if you really want to know.”
Even though I suspect he’s teasing, I can’t help that my eyes round. “What do you mean? How would you know? Did she see something and tell you? Are you supposed to surprise me?”
“No, I just know what it is.”
I’m more than a little deflated. “And how, pray tell, do you know that, Mr. All-seeing Eye?”
“Good old-fashioned reasoning.”
“You’ve reasoned out what the sex of our baby is?” I’m skeptical at best, but curious enough to play along.
“Yep. It’s a girl.”