The Empty Jar(44)

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.”

Despite the lack of soundness to this entire conversation, my heart swells at the thought of giving Nate a little girl. “And how did you reason out that it’s a girl?”

“Well, if it was a boy, he wouldn’t be able to hide his…appendage. After all, I’m the father and, well, have you seen me naked? I mean, come on! If they’d seen a third arm, they’d have known it was a boy. But they didn’t. Therefore, it’s a girl.”

A bark of laughter bursts from between my lips. “My God! Men and their penises. You’re like a tribe of psychos, released into the wild to go forth and multiply, aren’t you?”

Nate see-saws his head. “Yeah, pretty much. But still, it’s a girl, so you’d better settle on a name.”

“Me?” I question as Nate exits the car. I wait until he opens my door before I continue. “Me? What about you? I’ve given you a thousand choices, and you never like any of them!”

Nate gently takes my hand, placing his other up near my armpit, and he helps me from the car. I’m anemic, they think because of micro bleeds associated with my growing tumor, and it further saps my energy despite the iron supplements I’ve been taking.

“I’m not worried. The perfect name will come to us. We’ve got time.”

I feel Nate’s pause as soon as the words leave his lips and drift through the air. We’ve got time. The one thing we both know that we don’t have is time.

The words and the bleakness of our future settle around us like a cool, damp blanket. Sometimes it’s so heavy, the future, that it makes even something as simple as walking a much more difficult task for me than it should be. But, as always, I put on a smile, aim it at my husband, and trudge on as if nothing is amiss.

I suspect that Nate is never fooled, but we’re both content to pretend, to keep the wolf of depression and harsh reality at bay for a few more hours, days, hopefully weeks.

My enthusiasm returns, somewhat at least, by the time I’m stretched out on the table in the dimly-lit ultrasound room. Whether because of our relationship or because of my extremely high-risk status I don’t know, but Dr. Stephens always performs the ultrasound herself. She always excuses the tech who performs them for everyone else. The special care makes me feel more comfortable, but it also makes me feel more fragile, like everyone around me is holding their breath, waiting for the moment when things will go sideways.