Authors: Ruth Clampett
Back in the bedroom, I carefully remove her shoes, open the folded blanket at the foot of the bed, and drape it over her. I prop up my note on the bedside table so she’ll see it as soon as she wakes.
It’s lunch time when my phone prompts and I look at the screen to see it’s her.
“Hey Elle, how are you feeling?”
“Nauseous but otherwise okay.”
“I put that fruit and yogurt in the fridge last night. Can you try to eat that?”
“I’ll try. How are you doing?”
“Fine, doing the work thing . . . figuring out tree installations. Are you working today?”
“I slept straight through my first call of the day so I decided to cancel my meetings and take the day off. I’ve made an appointment with my OB/Gyn.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re going. Do you need a ride?”
“No I think I can swing it. But thanks for the offer.”
“Any time.”
“I was thinking I’d like to cook you dinner. Are you free Friday night?”
“Sure, what’s the occasion?”
“To thank you.”
I rub my chin as I try to figure out what this is about. “For what?”
She lets out a happy sigh. “For everything.”
“That’s kind of vague.”
“Okay, how about for being a good man.”
“It’s a little wide-sweeping, but I’ll take it.”
“I promise on Friday to be more specific.”
I grin into my phone. “Excellent. So call me later, okay?”
“I will.”
I feel good all day. Really good, like my life is in order and I’m grounded to something bigger now. But how can the chaos of Elle’s accidental pregnancy and my compulsion to be her port in a storm, make me feel so settled? It’s freaking weird.
I decide not to be an idiot who questions everything and just go with it. Elle texts me in the afternoon to let me know the appointment went well and the good feelings expand with the news.
I take a longer run after work and skip my beer that night. It’s like I’m a new man, the kind of man I can actually feel positive about.
By the time I arrive for dinner Friday this new scenario between us is feeling normal. Elle’s been impregnated by a Viking, and I’ve traded my dream future as her passionate boyfriend for being a doting uncle to her baby. I’m not sure why it seems to make sense but it does, like we’ve stepped into an alternate universe and find that it’s not bad at all. When she opens the front door I hand her a book on pregnancy for working women and a little stuffed lamb instead of a bottle of wine.
Judging from her reaction to the gifts, I’m totally rocking this uncle thing.
She clutches the gifts to her chest and kisses me on the cheek. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Famished.”
She sits me down in the kitchen and pours me some wine while she finishes up the beef stroganoff.
“So what did the doctor say?”
“Well first of all she said I’m in really good health which bodes well for the pregnancy. She said I can keep up with my exercise routine as long as I don’t push it.”
“You mean the balls and straps?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you sure that’s okay? I’m not sure I like that.”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “No, I’m staying away from the balls and straps, but I also do the cross country ski machine, so I’m going to keep that up.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. Good to know.”
“And she was very impressed with your choice of pre-natal vitamins and diligence in getting me on them right away.”
“Well I’m determined to be a do-the-right-thing kind of guy.”
“Indeed.”
“So when do you see her again?”
“In four weeks. It’s the appointment after that we hear the heartbeat.”
I look up at her expectantly. I wonder if she’d feel weird about me coming along. “That’s really cool,” I say as I glance down and take a bite of the salad she’s just put in front of me.
“Would you like to come?”
My head pops up and I can’t stop myself from grinning ear to ear. “Yeah! That’d be great.” After taking another bite of my salad I ask, “So what else did she say?”
“We talked about the challenges of being a single working mom. So she talked about building a support circle. It takes a village, and all that . . .”
“Right,” I say, nodding.
“I’m still scared out of my mind, but she reminded me that women all over the world do it every day. There are some good daycare places around here and with my flexible schedule I’ll have more quality time than a lot of working parents.”
“There you go,” I say encouragingly.
She takes a long sip of her water. “And we talked about sex.”
My mouth falls open and I set my fork down. I thought we were done with that subject for quite a while. “What about sex?”
“Why I want it all the time now.”
I feel the blood drain out of my face. “But you wanted it all the time before. You mean you want it even more now?”
“I do. She says it’s the hormones, but how am I going to manage all of this raging physical need?”
Oh dear God
.
“Please tell me you aren’t going to start up Tinder again.”
“Oh no!” She looks alarmed. “That would be crazy.”
“Good. You were scaring me.”
She pulls her shoulders back and straightens up. “And look. My boobs are bigger. I guess they’re going to be huge by the time I deliver.”
“They were already pretty big.”
“And they’re really sensitive, but in a good way.”
In order to know this, she must be touching them a lot.
I can imagine her touching herself way too vividly in my head. I’m sure I’ll be imagining her skimming her fingertips over her breasts and softly pinching her nipples while I’m in the shower tonight.
“Um, wow, that must be cool.”
“Except that I want to touch them all the time.”
“Even now?”
“Especially now . . . well, you know, since we’re talking about it.”
I lean back in the chair to adjust myself. My jeans are too damn tight right now. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Be my guest.”
She cups her hands over her breasts and squeezes a few times with her eyes closed. A huge smile spreads across her face as she lets out a satisfied sigh. “Oh, that feels so good.”
This woman . . .
Am I in in a dream—like one of my dreams when I was twelve and obsessed with breasts?
I feel kind of drugged watching her, like the walls in the room are wavy and her large, amazing breasts are all I can see. My hard-on is getting painful. “You know you’re making me crazy, right?”
She drops her hands down and bites her lip. “Sorry about that.”
“You should be. You know about my issues,” I say with a mock stern voice.
“I got carried away. It’s just all so fascinating how different my body feels.”
“So how are you going to manage this? It’s not like you can be touching yourself in public.”
“I went sexual relief shopping after the appointment.”
She carries over from the desk a bag from a bookstore and starts lifting out the contents. Each new book looks smuttier than the last.
I nod. “Impressive.” Frankly I’m just so relieved she won’t be looking for real sex in the world at large that I’m in full support of her lack of regard for fine literature. “Well, you’ve got hours of fun ahead of you with that selection.”
“Wait, I’m not done. I also went to the Pleasure Chest.”
“The dildo place?”
“Oh they’ve got everything.”
“But I thought you already had a vibrator.”
“I do, but I’m afraid my deluxe rabbit has to be put out to pasture for a while. It’s just too intense and I’m ultra-sensitive right now.”
“Back in the day one of my hook-ups showed me her rabbit. That thing is crazy! Is what you usually use?”
She winks. “I like it intense, but now it’s just too much.”
I lean back in my chair. “Wow.”
For a moment I allow myself to imagine what it would have been like if we’d met during my wild days and before she was married. Without a doubt the sex would’ve been mind-blowing.
I watch her open up the package for the simple vibrator, unscrew the back and slide the batteries inside. She turns it on and strokes it, then gives it a nod of approval. “Much less intense.”
“Are you going to demonstrate it for me?”
“You wish,” she says with a teasing tone while glancing down at my plate. “Hey eat up. Your Stroganoff is getting cold.”
Chapter Ten
AGAINST THE WALL
T
he following Thursday as I drive to my parents it hits me that I should’ve planned out better how I’m going to break the news to them about Elle. I really have no idea how they’re going to handle it. I work on the breakdown of how I imagine their thoughts will run:
Strike one: she’s a divorcee
Plus one: she baked an apple pie and brought it to our house for dinner
Plus two: she went out with Patrick
Strike two: she rejected Patrick
Strike three: she got knocked up out of wedlock
Plus three: she’s having a baby and Ma says babies are gifts from God
As for the issue that I’m going to be Uncle Paul? I have no idea how they’ll rank that surprise.
My head is spinning. So instead of creating a strategy of how to tell them, I down a beer soon after arrival and have another before dessert is served. It’s loosened me up enough to bolster me with a false bravado.
During a rare quiet pause in the conversation I share my big news rather nonchalantly.
“Hey, guess what?”
Dad takes the bait. “What, son?”
“I’m going to be an uncle.”
My parents push their chairs back in unison with such force that the table pitches forward. They almost knock Trisha over trying to hug her and I instantly realize that being spontaneous was a sucky idea. I have given them the completely wrong idea and Trisha is giving me the “
you will pay for this asshole”
look in a profoundly convincing way.
“Paddy, Paddy . . . We’re going to be a grandparents!” Ma yells, even though we are all within feet of her.
I leap to my feet. “Wait! Wait a minute! It’s not Trisha!”
In unison their gazes move to Patrick and back to me.
“What are you talking about, Paul?” my father asks. He’s not amused with my shenanigans, and obviously he wants some answers.
“It’s Elle.”
Patrick gasps and Trisha snorts.
“Elle?” Ma says. “What does that have to do with you being an uncle?”
“The guy she was seeing wants no part of it so I told her I’d help.”
“Help how?” my sister asks.
“Yes, what exactly do you mean by help?” My dad asks with a scowl on his face.
“I bet he’s in charge of diapers because he’s so full of shit,” Trisha says.
“Shut it, Trisha,” I growl.
She points at me. “Don’t even . . .”
“Paul? Help how?” my mother says in a stern tone that I recognize. If I don’t start making sense soon I’m going to be in the doghouse for sure.
“You know . . . just being supportive. We’re good friends so I calmed her down after the guy was an ass about it.”
My father shakes his head. “Ass indeed. What kind of man can he be?”
My fingers instinctively curl into fists. “Don’t get me started. I want to beat the shit out of him.”
“Goodness. You
are
supportive,” Ma says as she studies me.
“I am. I did some research online and bought her pre-natal vitamins.”
Patrick jumps in. “Those are very important.”
“How do you know that?” Trisha asks with an arched brow.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I glance over at Mom and her expression has softened. She looks at my dad, and then back at me. “You bought vitamins for her baby?”
I nod. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’m happy to help her. She’s a good woman, Ma.”
Patrick nods.
“She is,” Ma agrees. “Poor lass to be in such a situation. It’s a lot for one woman to manage—too much really.”
“And a baby needs a father,” Dad says.
His words sting because no matter how supportive I am, being an uncle is nothing compared to being a dad.
Ma turns to Patrick and Trisha. “You two, we need a word alone with Paul.”
“Why can’t we hear?” Trisha asks.
“Do you really need to ask that? You and your agitating comments . . .”
“It’s part of my charm,” Trisha remarks with a grin.
Patrick stands up. “Come on, Trisha, let’s go do the dishes.”
Ma waits until she hears the water running in the kitchen before she turns to me. “Paul, we want to know, is there something going on between you and Elle that you aren’t telling us?”
I can’t help but squirm in my seat. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I just can’t imagine why you would take this on if you aren’t involved. Saying you are going to be an uncle is a serious business. You can’t just flitter in and out of the wee one’s life.”
“I’m not the flittering type, Ma.”
Dad rests his hands on the table. “We know that, son, but you haven’t known Elle long. Do you really know what you are getting into? She’s embarking on the biggest job and responsibility of her life. And although I’m very sympathetic, how will you handle it if she asks too much from you?”
“That’s not her style. If anything she tries to do too much on her own, when she should ask for help.”
Ma twists her hands together.
“Do you think badly of her for this unplanned pregnancy?”
“No,” she scoffs. “That’s life—mistakes happen, but a baby is a gift regardless.
And Elle is a lovely woman who’s been married . . . she’s not a sixteen year old girl who was careless.”
“And we’ve always liked her,” Dad chimes in.
Ma nods. “She just needs to make the best of it, and it sounds like she’s trying.”
“She is,” I agree.
Ma gives me a stern look. “Okay, but how are you going to meet a girl and have your own family if you’re so busy being uncle to Elle’s baby?”
“And what if the father changes his mind and decides to be with Elle after all?”
“Believe me, he’s a whack-job . . . I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“But you can’t know that for sure,” Dad says.
I stand up and push my chair back. “Look, I appreciate your concern for me, really I do . . . but the bottom line is that I truly care about her and she really needs my support. I figure the rest will be worked out in time.”