The Empty Jar(50)

Despite my training as a nurse, it’s still a question that causes me to blush, especially considering that my husband is less than three feet away, propped in the corner, watching me. “Two nights ago.”

Dr. Stephens nods as she digests the information. “Okay, let’s see what the ultrasound shows.” With that, she leaves the room. Only then do I relax against the pillow.

Nate crosses the room to my side, brushing hair from my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, guilt in his voice and worry on his face.

“You absolutely did not hurt me, Nate. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did she ask about sex?”

“The cervix bleeds very easily during pregnancy. It doesn’t take much to cause spotting. I always spot after she examines me and that’s just with a couple of fingers.”

The concern doesn’t disappear from his handsome face, but he tries to pretend otherwise. “And we both know I’m packing more than a couple of fingers’ worth.”

His grin is lopsided and cocky and full of all the mischief I fell in love with nineteen years ago.

“Yeah, you are, baby,” I purr supportively, teasingly.

“More like a damn weapon.”

Nate’s lopsided grin inspires an answering one of my own.

God, how I love him!

I love how solid he is, how hard he tries to protect me, even from his own doubts and fears. I love how he can always find a bright side, even in the darkest times. And I love how his sense of humor has never failed us, just like it didn’t today.

“I hope you’re not going to try to get it registered.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You think I could?” Before I can retort, he begins nodding, chasing that silly thought. “Maybe they’d take pictures. Send them to Guinness and declare me ‘The Most Dangerous Penis Alive.’”

“No, that sounds like you’re calling yourself a penis. Do you want people to start calling you ‘dick’?”

After giving it a few seconds thought, Nate’s smile widens. “Not unless they call me Mr. Dick. You know, out of respect for The Most Dangerous Penis Alive.”

Of course he isn’t serious, but I go along with him anyway. “I think the last thing that you and every other man alive need is to revere your penises any more than you already do.”

“Oh, come on. Admit it. You love my penis.” When I roll my eyes, Nate tickles the underside of my chin with his fingertip. “Commme onnn. You can say it. ‘I adore your penis, Nate. It’s the prettiest penis in the whole wide world, Nate. Thank you for loving me with The Most Dangerous Penis Alive, Nate.’” A thump near the door has both of us stopping to listen.

I gasp.

Nate’s eyes widen guiltily.

I’m sure he’s hoping as much as I am that no one was listening to our odd conversation.

After thirty seconds have passed and we are still very much alone, Nate finally whispers, “Maybe we should keep The Most Dangerous Penis Alive between us. The world might not be ready for it yet.”

“I think that’s best,” I reply, my words hushed and conspiratorial, too. “I’m not sure I’m ready for it yet.”

We stare at one another for about fifteen seconds before we both give in to our laughter. We giggle and snort like two teenagers, and it feels good. It feels good to laugh, maybe even more so because we are covered by a dark cloud of uncertainty. But we are together, and that makes all the difference.

We are like two young lovers huddled beneath an umbrella in a rainstorm. We find shelter from the elements, warmth in each other’s arms, and solace in otherwise unforgiving circumstances. It’s us against the world.

Us against time.

As our merriment wanes, I lie staring up into Nate’s eyes, and he into mine. “I love you more than anything,” I declare softly. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know, but I’m more frequently impressed with the need to tell him these days.

“And I love you. We’ll get through this,” he pledges, bending to kiss my forehead, leaving his lips pressed to my skin for longer than the simple touch requires. “All three of us.”

I exhale a breath I wasn’t aware of holding. Maybe I just needed for him to tell me everything will be okay. Maybe I just needed for him to feel like everything will be okay. Whatever the reason, the tension in my muscles relaxes, and I sink further into the mattress.

Eventually, a tech comes to take me for an ultrasound. Then, when I arrive back in my room, it’s only a matter of minutes before Dr. Stephens walks in to give me the results.

“Looks like placenta previa,” she announces. “But it’s nothing that I believe you need to stay here to treat, nothing that severe. Bed rest. Stay off your feet as much as you can. No exercise. No sex.” She says the last with a playful amount of emphasis as she turns a warning eye toward Nate. “I can talk to Mr. Li. He’s made house calls before. I’m confident he’ll work with you at home so you don’t have to come out so frequently.” Mr. Li is the Chinese medicine man I’ve been seeing for herbal remedies and acupuncture.

The doctor goes on to give me a follow-up appointment date and a few other common sense instructions like no baths or douches, nothing in the vagina. No straining, be careful of falls, that sort of thing. Basically, I’m to treat my body as though it’s made of glass. I don’t think that will be a problem. Nate is already doing it for the most part. And, honestly, I don’t care what I have to agree to; I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep the baby safe.