Sweet Little Thing(15)

“Are we going to be able to handle a baby and the expenses and… oh my God… everything will have to change because of this.” I gestured with my hand toward her stomach as I held her out, away from my body. Stage four: depression.

Tears were now streaming steadily down her face. Her eyes were scrunched up with such an expression of pain dragging them down that it made my heart ache. She sniffled and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, Will. I thought you wanted this with me.” She looked down at her stomach the same way I had. “I’m sorry.” She put her face in her hands and began to sob. I was officially the biggest * in the world. She was curled up in my arms, naked, sobbing, heartbroken, and pregnant with my child.

I watched her cry for several moments. She let me pull her closer so I could soothe her even though I was the cause of her pain. There was something so beautiful about her raw vulnerability, but it hurt to know I had caused her to feel that way.

“I love you,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she replied.

At first the news of her pregnancy seemed life changing in a scary way, but those thoughts were fleeting. Sitting there with her crying in my arms, I realized our baby, which we had made together, was growing inside her. Once it became tangible in my mind, her being pregnant became the most life-affirming news I had ever received.

“No, I’m sorry.” I started kissing her all over. “I love this baby. This is our baby,” I said as I kissed her belly and breasts and neck. “I’m so happy, Mia. I realize this is all I’ve ever wanted, to be with you and to make a family.” Stage five: acceptance.

I’m not sure why I had to weather the stages of grief after hearing the news that night. Maybe it was the death of my singledom or the death of my own childhood that scared me. For some reason, when you’re faced with the realization that you’re going to become a parent, it immediately changes how you view yourself. You no longer think of yourself as someone else’s child because you can’t be a parent and a child. It’s an official good-bye, and good-byes always scared the hell out of me.

I continued kissing her as she cried and cried and cried, until finally there were no more tears.

She looked up at me with puffy red eyes and said, “Really?”

“Really what?”

“You really want this?”

“Yes.” I brushed the hair out of her face. “I promise. It just took me a second to process it. I’m sorry I reacted that way. You know I want this with you, Mia.”

She nodded unconvincingly and then stood up and reached for her dress.

“No, here,” I said and handed her my black T-shirt. “We’ll clean this up tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed.”

We exchanged few words as we scurried, half naked, out of the studio and into the freezing air. The doorway into the loft stairwell was only a few feet away.

“I’m freezing. I want to take a bath,” she said as we ran up the steps.

Inside the loft, I immediately went in and drew a bath for her. “Are you allowed to takes baths?” I yelled from the bathroom as she tinkered around in the kitchen.

“Yes, it just can’t be too hot,” she said finally as she approached me from the hallway. She had a stack of books in her hand.

“What are those?”

“Some pregnancy and childbirth books Martha gave me.”

I immediately shut the water off and stood up from the side of the tub. “What?” I barked. There were so many things running through my mind in that moment.

“Calm down, Will.”

“You told Martha before you told me?” I was shocked.

She held her ground. “Hold on a minute—just listen. I went to the café to visit Martha that day you came by, remember?”

I nodded.

“I was complaining to her about… you know, girl stuff?”

“No, I don’t know. Martha is not a girl, she’s sixty-six. What were you telling her?”

“I told her my nipples were sore, okay?” She blushed all the way to her toes and then stalked off to our bedroom.

“Wait, Mia, hold on. Aren’t you gonna take a bath?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you berating me in there.”

I huffed. “Just tell me the story.”

She sat on the edge of our bed with a pouty face and then she got all misty-eyed again.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not!” She punched the sides of the bed. “I’m just embarrassed.”

“Baby, you’re gonna have to get over that very soon. You can tell me when your nipples hurt, for Christ’s sake.”

“Will,” she whined. “It’s not that, but even if I did tell you, you wouldn’t know what it meant.”

“That brings me to my next question. How does Martha know about any of this stuff? She doesn’t even have kids.”

“Martha’s a doula. I thought you knew that.”

“She’s a whata?”

Mia shook her head and exhaled, looking down at her hands in her lap. She brought her thumb up to her mouth.

“Oh, no. You are not chewing on that thumb.” I pulled her hand away.

“A doula is like a birth assistant. She’s there for pregnant women before, during and after childbirth.”