Halfway to You(96)
But I couldn’t stop nature.
At five in the morning on December 31, 1999, I burst out of bed and scrambled into our bathroom to retch. Todd hurried in after me, holding my hair, rubbing my back. I was hot and nauseous, my soft moans echoing in the bowl of the toilet. The tile was hard on my knees. My body shook as I heaved and heaved. Twenty minutes passed, and when I was empty, I stood and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. Todd disappeared and reappeared with a water bottle in hand, and I swished and spit, cleaning out my mouth.
“You didn’t drink the tap water, did you?”
I shook my head.
Todd met my eyes in the mirror. “Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Would you mind getting me some crackers and ginger ale from the 7-Eleven down the street?”
He nodded and kissed my forehead. “Be right back.”
It was morning sickness. I crawled back into bed to rest. My abdominals were sore from clenching, and I felt mildly fatigued—but also better. Clear headed. After ten minutes trying to get back to sleep, I decided to get up and shower.
Standing under the hot water, I held my still-flat stomach, stroking the smooth skin with my fingers. I hoped it was a girl. I imagined it as a girl. She was probably the size of a pea—but she was our pea. Half mine and half Todd’s. I began to weep over the beauty of that thought.
Todd and I would figure it out—of course we would. But first I had to tell him.
That night was New Year’s Eve. I resolved to tell him then, during the celebrations. It seemed like the perfect way to start the new year.
We took it easy that day, visiting temples and markets close to the hotel. At 9:00 p.m., we caught a three-wheeled taxi—called a tuk-tuk—to Khaosan Road, a long strip of colored lights, shoulder-to-shoulder tourists, and vendors hawking their goods. We’d heard the best celebration was there, so we wiggled our way into the throngs of people. Celebratory air horns honked, music blared from open doors, and people shouted in glee. Sparklers fizzed all around. The air was thick with noise and smoke and body odor; though the sun had gone down hours ago, the air shimmered with lingering heat.
My heart was racing, but not because of the sensory overload; I was thrilled simply because Todd was there to hold my hand. I perused silk scarves, deliberated over cheap jewelry, and plucked at expertly made instruments. We grabbed snacks in a fluorescent grocery store and sucked down bottles of Fanta as we were jostled along, lifting our gazes to the strings of lanterns that crisscrossed the street, the neon signs blinking over our heads, and the smoggy sky above.
We were just finishing our snacks when we rounded a corner and found ourselves under yet another awning. Silver and gold earrings were laid out on dirty velvet, not the hoops and zirconium of other booths but royal-looking antique baubles that were dull and scratched but ornate. I touched a pair of gold circles; they had scalloped edges and were the size of euro coins, with dark-red stones nestled in their centers.
The shopkeeper smiled at me and bobbed his head. “You like?” He was a small man with graying hair and delicate hands. He gestured to a mirror, and I held the earrings against my face.
“Twenty baht,” he said.
I turned, hoping to show Todd my find. I expected him to be right behind me, but he was at the opposite end of the table, pointing to a ring display. A woman I assumed was the shopkeeper’s wife held up ten fingers, spreading them and closing them into fists five times. Todd nodded in understanding.
I set the earrings down and approached him.
“What do you think of this?” Todd pointed at a ring with a blue stone. It had a vintage halo setting and a tooled silver band. Elegant, regal.
I considered the ring, then his face. He had a sincere expression—creased brows over glittering eyes, a half smile that picked up the right corner of his mouth.
Was he proposing?
I stilled, and the people around us faded. I saw a vision of our future: myself in a hospital bed, nestled in Todd’s arms, our baby curled on my bare chest. She had Todd’s eyes, my nose, his mouth, my hair. A chin and eyebrows all her own. As bright as the sparklers around us, I could see Todd bouncing her on his knee, lifting her up above his head, playing peekaboo. Teaching her how to ride a bike, drive a car.
I had to tell him. I couldn’t wait until midnight. I couldn’t wait a moment longer. If he wanted to marry me, he needed to know. My heart swelled like a balloon, carrying me high, high above the earth.
“Well, what do you think?” Todd pressed.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
“You—what?”
I grinned. I expected him to hug me, to shout with joy, to kiss my cheeks and moistened eyelashes. But instead, Todd grasped my arm and pulled me away from the booth, ducking into an alleyway.
“Ann, are you serious?”
I was floating in the clouds. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Wonderful?” He cleared his throat. “It’s certainly a surprise.”
“And so is the ring,” I said. “Should we go back to the booth?”
His hands found my waist, and he pushed me back slightly, so he could look into my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“The ring?” I asked.
He was shaking his head. “Oh, you thought—” His eyes widened, and his hand flew up to his mouth. “Ann, you thought I was proposing?”