Due Date

“I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye, that was the trouble; I wanted to kiss you goodnight and there’s a lot of difference.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

Kento Parsons

Tuesday, June 6

Present

I put the last of our bags in the trunk of the car while Vanessa ambles toward the passenger side.  I jog around to open her door. Her beautiful face is tense with worry.

“No matter what happens, we’re in this together,” I assure her.  “You’re the most important person in my life and I’m not losing you.”

She gives me a peck on the cheek, then smiles weakly as she gets inside.  Nothing I say can change the way she feels. No matter how much I wish I could take away her worries, I know it’s beyond my control.  

We’ve been through a lot.  She’s been through a lot.  Vanessa has every right to feel this way.

Vanessa Parsons

The day’s just begun and it can’t end soon enough.  I’m trying to be strong, but fear keeps knocking at the door.  Today should be a happy occasion, but I’m freaking out. I’d express this to my husband, but I can’t.  He’s more concerned about me than the baby. He shouldn’t have to handle me with kid gloves.

Kento exits our neighborhood, his eyes focused on the road.  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His fatigued eyes belie his relaxed face.  The pressure he’s been under has settled in his raised shoulders. It looks like he’s walking the same tightrope as me.  

Having a baby is exciting and fun, but it’s not without its scares.  Doctors poke and prod expectant mothers throughout their pregnancy, ensuring the baby is healthy and the mothers will have a safe delivery.  Each examination comes with either good news or bad. We sit in horrible fluorescent-lit rooms, waiting for the experts to tell us we’re doing it right and everything will be fine.  But every now and then, even they don’t know.

 

Wednesday, December 9

Two and a half years ago

I pull the straps of my lavender bra over my shoulders, adjusting the undergarment to my comfort level.  The lace bra and thong set are a gift from Kento. Ever since we got married, he showers me with sexy lingerie that he takes off as soon as he sees me in it.  I don’t see the point. I figure he should save his money if I’m going to end up naked anyway.

I smile as I model the two-piece in front of the bathroom mirror.  My hand glides over the soft fabric of my bra down to my flat stomach.  I wonder how long it’ll be before I begin to show. Kento’s gift no longer has my attention as I turn to my right, then my left.  I poke out my belly to see how I’d look five months from now. It’s totally pointless, but I still do it. I can’t wait for the next chapter in our lives to begin.

I wince as the pain in my lower back worsens.  It’s been bothering me for a few days, but it’s supposed to be normal.  If this is how it is now, what will it be like in the last trimester? My body is going to change drastically – that I know for sure.  When my mother was pregnant with my sister and I, she carried most of her weight in her stomach. I hope it’ll be the same for me.

I take my wash cloth off the rack when I feel a sharp cramp in my stomach.  It’s worse than what I’m used to. I double over in pain from another severe cramp that feels like it’s going to rip through me.  My vision blurs from the tears forming in my eyes. I groan in agony. Suddenly blood runs down between my thighs. I grip the edge of the sink, gasping for air.  

“No,” I whimper, trying to wipe away the blood.  I only succeed in smearing it across my legs. Kento.  Where’s Kento?

I open the bathroom door.  “Kento!”

The ache cuts through my body and I lose my balance, slipping and falling in my own blood.

“Kento!” I scream.

I hear footsteps running up the stairs.  

“Oh, my god,” he says.  “Vanessa, look at me.”

This can’t be happening.  

Kento’s speaking to someone, but I don’t know who.  He shoves his cell in his pocket, then covers me with a blanket and lifts me up.

“We’re not waiting for the ambulance.”

“The baby,” I cry as he carries me downstairs.

I lay in a stiff bed next to a woman who is waiting to be induced.  Only a thin curtain separates us, but it feels as if there’s a greater rift between us.  I tune out her excited, nasal voice. I barely listen to the on-call doctor, Dr. Hobbs, apologize for the loss of my baby.  I’m not completely sure, but he might’ve mentioned there was nothing I could’ve done. It was an inevitable miscarriage. Inevitable.  Like it was bound to happen.  So much for being hopeful.

His thin lips form words I never dreamed of hearing.  My eyes burn as I stare at the small dry erase board behind the good doctor’s square-shaped head.  I blink to let him know I’m still present. Kento squeezes my hand in a vain attempt to reassure me.  His sweater is stained with blood, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy asking questions.

“Let’s just do the D&C.”  My voice seems so distant.

The two men stare at me and I sigh, “I want to get this over with.”

 

Late February

I turn on the light switch, illuminating the master bathroom.  I still remember the excitement I felt when Kento and I first walked through the home.  House number fifty-eight. We just knew this was the perfect home to start our lives and build our family.  We were so naive.

Sighing I enter the bathroom that used to transport me to the Mediterranean whenever I stepped foot inside.  The large window lets in a vast amount of light that normally makes it feel tranquil. Lately it just feels cold.  I set down the bucket of sudsy water sloshing it onto my bare feet. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, I kneel down on the bare tile floor. I dip the brush into the water and get to work scrubbing the floors.

Before long I make my way around the entire bathroom floor, making sure every crevice is clean.  The hard bristles scrape across the antique white tile. The scraping almost feels hypnotic. My arms go round and round in circles, trying to remove blood stains that aren’t there.  It’s been two and a half months and I can’t get that sight out of my head. Kento doesn’t think I’m moving on even though he hasn’t actually said those words to me. He gets this look on his face when he believes I’m doing something that hinders the grieving process.  There’s a sadness mixed with pity in his deep brown eyes.

Who knew one of the worst memories of my life would happen in my master bathroom?  The tiles are spotless, like they have been almost every day since it happened. The fetus that didn’t have a chance to develop in my womb was washed away with heavy duty stain removal.  I wonder if it was a boy or a girl. If it was a boy, I can imagine him looking like his father. I smile at the thought, then frown when I realize I would’ve had to endure all those teenage girls crushing on my son.  My son.

“Hey,” Kento’s voice brings me back from what could’ve been.  He leans against the door frame as he looks at the bucket of soapy water, then over at me.

Kento’s been very patient with me since the miscarriage.  I know he’s disappointed over our loss. He wants to talk, but he has no idea what to say.  He’ll ask how my day went, then move on to how I’m feeling. After that, it becomes awkward watching him struggle to come up with the right words to say that’ll elicit the response he needs to hear.   So he runs for miles through our neighborhood while I scrub the bathroom floor.

The long sleeved shirt clings to his sweaty chest.  Black sweat pants hang low on his hips. It’s been almost two years since we got married.  He’s sexier now than he was when we first met. Marriage looks good on him. Fatherhood would look even better.  I stare into his eyes as I stroll towards him. I can get lost in the mystery behind them. I plant a kiss on his mouth.  He parts my lips with his tongue, pulling me close against his arousal.

“Let’s try again,” I whisper in his ear.

 

Kento Parsons

Traffic is unusually light this morning, but neither one of us is in a hurry to get to our destination.  We’ve made this journey before. The average couple would be thrilled, but Vanessa and I are extremely apprehensive.  The end of the road hasn’t been marked with tears of joy and laughter for us.

As unsettled as I am over what’s about to happen, I maintain some optimism for Vanessa’s sake.  At least that’s what I tell myself. Truthfully, it makes sense for one of us to be hopeful when the other isn’t.  Yeah, I’m fooling myself. Who knew the greatest challenge we’d face in our marriage would be starting a family?

I peek over at my wife.  She’s been quietly staring out the window since we left the house.  The further we drive, the gloomier she becomes. Those hazel eyes have lost their luster.  The spark’s been missing for a while now. I never thought I’d see the day when that would happen.  I massage the back of her hand hoping to break the stillness, but she doesn’t respond. She just stares out the window.  

“Vanessa, I know you’re worried,” I glance at her,  “but everything’s going to be fine.”

“Is it?” she wonders.

I should be able to say something that’ll give her a modicum of comfort.  Truth is, I have no idea what’s going to happen. Every time hope blooms inside of me, my heartache wraps its claws around it, strangling the life out of what our future could hold.  However, in spite of the war between my emotions, I remain encouraged. I don’t have a choice.

 

Vanessa Parsons

I shouldn’t have said that.  He’s only trying to help. This is supposed to be a great day, but I can’t bring myself to be excited.  The memories are too haunting and joy is fleeting. My faith is on its last leg. God gives and He takes away.  This is a well known fact. It’s a lesson I’ve learned countless times in my life. He’s God, so He can do as He pleases.  I just wish He hadn’t taken the most precious things from me.

Finding peace seems to be a waste of time.  Sometimes I’m furious with Kento for being the mature one, and other times I’m pissed with God for devising the most heart wrenching plan for us.  Why give if you’re only going to take away?

I wrap my arms around my stomach.  This simple act won’t protect my child.  You’d think I would know by now, but it brings me some comfort.  I played a small part in creating the life inside of me. He belongs to me, and I’m not losing another one.  

 

Early October

One year and eight months ago

“How much longer is this going to take?” I giggle as the paint brush strokes across my protruding stomach.

“I’m almost done,” Kento grins.  “Every time you laugh your belly shakes.”

This makes me laugh even harder.  Kento smirks at me while he waits for me to get control of myself.

“I can’t help it.  It tickles.”

I haven’t stopped laughing since he brought up the idea of painting my stomach.  Maybe it’s because I associate body paint with foreplay. I just can’t stop thinking about the last time he turned me into his personal canvas.  Damn, that was great time. Now, he wants to use it in a wholesome, family-friendly way. How the hell am I supposed to take him seriously?

“We’re getting a picture of this when we’re done, right?” I ask, pointing at the artwork.

“Of course,” he replies.

He adds the finishing touches, then rolls away to get my camera off the workbench.  I carefully step off the stool to see the results.

“This looks great,” I smile.  “I love it!”

My seven-month-sized belly sports the faces of a fierce mother tiger and her cub.  It’s an incredible work of art. I pose for a few photos, looking at each one to make sure they’re tasteful and appropriate for our little boy’s room.  Kento sets up the tripod so we can get a shot of him kissing my stomach.

“Daddy has to make sure he’s in one of these pictures,” he says, squatting into position.  “I did help create him.”

The camera snaps our photo right when I throw my head back in laughter.  Kento kisses my stomach a few more times, before he starts talking to our son.  Immediately, the baby starts stretching in the limited space in my womb. Every time he hears his father’s voice, he stirs around.

Pregnancy has been eventful.  From the morning sickness to the minor cramps that didn’t lead to devastation, it’s been an experience I’m so grateful to have.  My butt has gotten huge and my hips can’t seem to stop spreading. My breasts are the size of cantaloupes, and Kento couldn’t be happier  Unfortunately, they’re tender and extremely sensitive. The first time Kento tried to nibble on them, I nearly lost my mind. Thankfully, he’s figured out a way to get what he wants without making me want to strangle him.  

“Since we have all the pictures we need,” Kento begins, slowly pecking my belly.  “How about I help you remove this paint?”

I nod as his lips travel toward my neck.  He gently kisses me, biting my lower lip. I unbutton his shirt as he cups my ass.  

“We’re finally going to be parents,” I smile.

 

Thursday, November 4

High pitched screaming comes from the alarm clock on the nightstand.  My eyes refuse to open as I smack the alarm off. Last night was the first time in a long while that I’ve been able to sleep through the night.  Usually Adam’s tiny fists pummel the inside of my womb, waking me up at 2:00 a.m. I wonder if this is the only bit of mercy Adam’s showing me before he comes into the world.

I waddle out of bed, careful not to wake Kento.  His light snores fill the room. He looks so peaceful with his hair sticking up at odd angles.  Chuckling to myself, I head into our walk-in closet. My eyes zero in on the navy blue, business casual dress that Tabitha bought me.  She’s taken it upon herself to make sure my style doesn’t falter even though I’m pregnant. At this stage, I could care less. I’m just happy I’m able to get out of bed without needing my husband’s help.  Grabbing the dress out of the closest I make my way into the bathroom.

“Good morning, Adam,” I whisper, rubbing my belly.  “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Is it because of the bean burrito I ate yesterday?”

I turn the water on in the shower.  I press the top of my abdomen in hopes of waking up my little one.  If I remember correctly, the last time I felt him move was two nights ago.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment?” I ask playfully.  “You’re not supposed to do that for another sixteen years.”

A stabbing pain hits my abdomen like a freight train.  I inhale through my nose, then exhale slowly out of my mouth.  I’m not due for at least a month. Could this be the Braxton Hicks contractions Dr. Lin warned me about?  The sharp pain worsens. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes. I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until I’m lightheaded and dizzy.  Warm fluid streams down my leg. It’s too soon to be in labor. Opening my eyes, I look down to see blood instead of clear liquid.

“Oh, no. This can’t be good,”  I moan, hot tears running down my cheeks.

I cry out in pain as I grab my stomach.  Kento rushes in to see blood flowing down to me feet.  His eyes widen in shock.

“I’m not due for another six weeks?” I grit my teeth as another wave of pain courses through my body.

He springs into action, wrapping his arm around me while I drape mine around his neck.  We slowly make our way down the stairs. The pain isn’t subsiding and I can’t get control of my breathing.

“Vanessa, you have to breathe,” he says, as helps me toward the side door.

“I’m trying,” I reply when searing pain almost brings me to my knees.

Kento hoists me up, carrying me into the garage.  Once inside the car, he’s on auto-pilot as he calls our doctor and rushes me to the hospital.  Adam’s early, but premature babies have a ninety-five percent survival rate. That’s better than nothing, right?  Tears sting my eyes as I grimace in pain. Kento squeezes my hand.

“We’ll be at the hospital soon,” he says, never taking his focus off the road. “Hold on.”

I’ve been through this before; the never-ending nightmare that only seems to get more frightening.  Dr. Hobbs has the unfortunate job of telling us, once again, that we lost our son. How did he manage to be the on-call doctor again?  

“Mrs. Parsons,” Dr. Hobbs stares at me.  He blinks rapidly as his gray eyes mist over.

Why is he getting emotional?  It’s not like he keeps losing babies.  He’s just the messenger. He doesn’t have to deal with the aftermath.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

“How could this happen?” Kento asks.

“It’s hard to say,” he begins.  “Although stillbirths are uncommon, the rate is higher among African-American women.”

Kento’s hand slips away from my shoulder.  It was subtle. If I were more detached and in less pain, I wouldn’t have noticed.  

“Based on what you told us about the last time you felt any movement,” Dr. Hobbs clears his throat.  “It’s possible the baby has been deceased for over twenty-four hours, but we’ll need to run tests to be sure.”

Adam was already gone when I ate that bean burrito yesterday.  He was gone while I was singing to him in the car on my way to work that morning.  He was dead when Kento was talking to him last night before bed. He’s been dead this whole time.  What kind of mother doesn’t know when something’s wrong with her child?

My obstetrician, Dr. Lin, arrives thirty minutes after we receive the bad news.  She apologizes profusely as if she had something to do with our loss. I know she’s just doing her job, but all of these apologies and unknown variables are overwhelming.  

“Vanessa, we have to induce you,” she says softly.  

“Is this our only option?” Kento asks as he crosses his arms.    

“It’s the safest option,” she states, meeting his glare.  “The other option is a C-section, which I’d advise against since the baby isn’t breeched and Vanessa’s safety is my priority.

“I understand,” Kento sighs.  “I just don’t want my wife going through an even more traumatic experience.

“We both want the same thing, Mr. Parsons,” Dr. Lin assures him.  “I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but I will say we will do everything in our power to help you through this.”

Then maybe everyone should stop talking about me like I’m not even here.

Kento silently holds my hand as Dr. Lin tells me to push.  When I imagined delivering Adam, I never pictured it would be like this.  My husband isn’t enthusiastically coaching me. The doctor’s voice isn’t upbeat.  The room is sterile and bleak. Next door a woman is groaning with each push while her husband cheers her on.  All Kento can do is hold my hand and rub my back.

“Okay, Vanessa,” Dr. Lin’s soothing voice cuts through the noise coming from the other room.  “I know this is difficult, but I need you to push as hard as you can.”

My heart breaks with each push.  The images of bringing our son home to his new nursery are shattered.  All the joyous moments we looked forward to have evaporated like a mist.  Thoughts of Kento teaching him how to play catch disappear. Adam learning how to shave; his first driving lesson; his first date and high school graduation.  His entire life and what it could’ve been is gone with one last push.

Kento Parsons

“Hey,” I gently turn Vanessa’s chin.  “Don’t think like that. We’ve endured some heartbreaking challenges, but we haven’t lost the battle.”

“You sound like a motivational speaker,” she smiles, taking my hand in hers.  “I’m trying to remain optimistic, but…”

Sighing, her eyes drop down to her lap.  I squeeze her hand, forcing her to give me her attention.

“Listen,” I begin, “we’ve already hit rock bottom.  There’s nowhere to go but up. It’s corny, I know, but it’s all I’ve got.

She bursts out laughing at my attempt to encourage her.  I have to admit, I do sound a little gimmicky, but the truth is too heavy to handle.  I don’t want to go back to where we were over a year ago. It was excruciating, having to see who we’d become.  Our hurt and anguish was on display for everyone to see. If anyone was under the illusion we were the perfect couple, we quickly dismantled that impression.

 

 

Mid-January

One year and five months ago

When I come home from work, I find Vanessa in the kitchen with her back to me.  It’s after six thirty in the evening and she’s still in her bathrobe. It’s been two months and she’s only gotten worse.  She won’t talk to me unless she’s picking a fight. She only leaves the house to buy liquor or to go to a bar to drink. I need to put a stop to this before it’s too late.  

I miss my wife.  The hours we used to spend talking about anything.  The way I could make her laugh with a simple anecdote.  I long for the way she’d look at me like she had so much faith in me.  I could do anything. I felt like a man.

Vanessa keeps shutting me out, but I’m not giving up.  I love her too much. I need her. She’s the only one who knows what it’s like to lose a child.  I wrap my arms around her waist, and just as I had expected, she pulls out of my embrace. We haven’t been intimate in months and I desire her touch.  The feel of her lips on my chest. The warmth of her sex when we make love.

“How was work?” she asks.

“It was okay,” I reply.  She turns her head away when I attempt to kiss her.

“Kento, don’t,” she shakes her head as she takes a sip of the clear liquid swirling in the glass.  It can only be gin.

“Vanessa, it’s been over two months since we’ve had sex,” I point out.  “At least let me kiss you.”

I’m determined to kiss the woman I call my wife, but she’s not having it.  Her small fists push again my chest.

“How long will it be before you open up to me?” I look down at her. “How can we get through this if you won’t let me in?”

She gulps down the gin.  I take the tumbler from her.

“Is this what you want?” she sighs, untying her robe and letting it fall to the floor.

As much as I want to fuck her right here and now, I don’t budge.  She’s provoking me into another argument, and I don’t have the energy.   

“I’m not falling for it,” I shake my head as I put the bathrobe around her shoulders.  “You know what I want.”

“Yeah, you want your wife back,” she mocks.  “You want someone who doesn’t exist.”

“She’d exist if you’d let her,” I shoot back.

She glares at me, “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in mourning.”

“So am I!” I shout.  “You’re not the only one who built your hopes and dreams around Adam.  You’re so busy living in your own world, you can’t see that I lost a child too!”

Tears roll down her scowling face.  She turns and walks away. I wash out the glass and pour the bottle of gin down the drain.  Ten minutes later Vanessa’s dressed in jeans and a sweater. The contents in her purse clink as she rummages through it.

“Where are you going?” I fold my arms and lean against the counter.

“Out.” She lifts up a dish towel, searching for what she didn’t find in her bag.

“You’ve been drinking,” I say as I walk toward her.

Her eyes scan the kitchen table and countertops as she says, “I want some air.”

I grab her keys off the island before she can reach them.  “Then open a damn window.”

She glares at me, holding out her hand, “Give me the keys.”

“You’re not leaving this house.  You don’t get to leave when you run out of gin.  You don’t get to walk out when I try to get close to you or when I want to talk.  I’m not in this by myself!”

She leans back with her arms crossed over her chest glaring at me.  Then a smirk slowly forms on her tired face.

“You think you’re the only one who’s going through this.”  Her slight fingers form air quotes.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I argue.  

“I lost our children!  My body rejected them.”  Her arms wrap around her waist.

I wipe the warm tears from her face but she smacks my hand away.  I resist the urge to shake the shit out of her. There have been so many times when Vanessa has pushed me to a point where my rage has nowhere to go but toward her.  I’ve never known a woman who could incite so much anger in me, but I know she’s hurting. I’ll never lay a hand on her, even if her words sting and her behavior is infuriating.

“Do you have any idea how painful it is to deliver a dead body?  What it’s like to feel life growing inside of you and then it’s gone?  He was there and then he wasn’t,” her voice cracks.

“No, I don’t,” I fire back.  “But I was there with you.”

She shakes her head as she continues, “I should’ve known something was wrong when he stopped moving.  I should’ve been more cautious, but instead I did nothing.”

The sound of Vanessa’s scream jolting me awake that night plays over in my head.  The sight of all that blood. The horrified look on her face. Kissing our son goodbye.  All these memories flood my mind.

Burying my hands in my hair, I warn, “Vanessa, stop.”

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your husband get excited over the birth of our child because he’ll finally have something that puts him in the same league as his brothers?” her bottom lip quivers.  “You can finally prove that you too can have the same things they have, but with a black woman.”

The mention of my family and my old ways is a hot button of mine.  My anger boils over.

“That’s enough,” I point my finger in her face.

“How I had to see your heart break at the sight of our son’s body?  How it felt to have your arm fall off my shoulder when the doctor said that black women my age are more likely to have stillbirths?”

“No,” I shake my head.  I didn’t do what she’s implying.

“You didn’t think I noticed that?  I could see the thought running through your mind.  If you had listened to your father, then you’d have a shitload of kids.”

“Don’t give me that shit!” I bark.  “This has nothing to do with my family or my past.  It’s about you drowning your sorrows in a bottle instead of talking to me.  You act like this is only happening to you. Get over yourself!”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do!”

Vanessa glowers at me for what seems like forever.  A smirk slowly forms on her face as she backs away from me.

“Give me my keys.  Please,” she grits her teeth.

I shake my head.  She whips around to walk away.  I grab her by the arm. She struggles to get free, but gives up when I pull her close to me.  She nearly stumbles into my arms.

In a measured tone I say, “We’re having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t feel like talking to you,” she rolls her eyes.

“Well, you’re not walking out on me, so you might as well say something,” I point out.

Vanessa stares at me.  Heat rolls off her body.  “I’m hurting right now. I don’t know how to explain it, nor do I know how to deal with it.  It’s hard to talk to you because I feel like I ruined your chance at being a father.”

She blinks rapidly before continuing, “And sometimes I hate myself for that.”

I wasn’t expecting her to say this.  Instinctively, my arms circle around her.  She holds up her hands to stop me, then shakes her head.

“I’m depressed, not drunk,” she states, holding out her hand.  “Keys. I’m not asking.”

When I hesitate, she snatches them  from my hand and stomps out of the house, slamming the door behind her.  Setting my palms on the island, I process what has become of my marriage.  I know I’m supposed to give her time, but for how long? In the past I suggested therapy, but she rejected the idea.  How can we move on if one of us isn’t ready? I’ve lost two children. Now I’m losing my wife. Vanessa shouldn’t hate herself or feel guilty.  

Anger courses through my veins as I realize how little control I have over the situation.  Without thinking, I grab Vanessa’s favorite vase and heave it at the wall. It bursts into jagged burgundy pieces.

 

End of March

One year and three months ago

I shouldn’t be here, but he’s one of my best friends.  He’s had my back for years. Not to mention he was there for me when I got married.  It’s the least I can do.

“Congratulations on catching the most beautiful woman on the planet,” Joe, one of Aaron’s coworkers, raises his shot glass.

I glare at him as I’m about to take a sip of rum.  Tabitha’s pretty, but she has nothing on Vanessa, and I resent this guy’s implication.

“Um, Joe,” Ezekiel clears his throat.  “I’m gonna give you a pass because you’re new, but you’re surrounded by married men who’d disagree with you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not your night,” the cocky coworker retorts.  I really hate this guy.

“Thanks, Joe,” Aaron chuckles as he gives Joe a hard pat on the back.  “I think I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but how about we toast to all of our gorgeous ladies.”

Mateo takes over the toast and we all raise our glasses.  Afterwards, Joe sits next to me.

“You’re the one who married the black girl, right?” he nods his head, answering his own question.

“We all married black women,” I state.

I have no idea where this guy came from or how long Aaron has known him.  It seems like he’s informed enough to know about Vanessa, which means he should be aware of who Ezekiel and Mateo married.  I signal the waiter for another drink, hoping Joe can sense my foul mood.

“Oh, yeah,” he says.  “All of them are friends?”

Where did Aaron get this guy?

“Yes and no,” I nod my thanks to the waiter when he brings my drink.  

I’m not about to explain to this prick how our little clique formed.  I’ll leave that to Aaron. I catch Mateo’s eye, hoping he can read my mind.

“Hey, buddy,” Mateo comes over and shakes Joe’s hand.  “Can you check with the manager on the status of our food?  I’d do it, but I need to check on the guests.”

“Sure.” Joe hops up like a dutiful errand boy.

“Thanks, man,” I say as I throw back the rum.  The liquid burns my throat.

“Take it easy, Ken,” Mateo cuts the waiter off when he’s about to refill my glass.  “How’ve you been?”

“Work is a little stressful.  I have this temperamental client who can’t make up her mind about the sculpture piece I’m working on,” I recline back in the black leather chair.  “Other than that, everything’s fine.”

“I know Aaron’s bachelor party isn’t the place to have this discussion,” Mateo glances over at Aaron who’s laughing it up with Lenny, his brother-in-law.  “But how are you and Vanessa really doing?”

Here it is.  The reason why I didn’t want to come.  Like Joe said, tonight is Aaron’s night, not my pity party.  I didn’t want to be surrounded by happily married men and a soon-to-be married Aaron when my wife won’t let me touch her.  

Sadly, I didn’t want conversations about Ezekiel’s daughters, Zara and Yohana – my goddaughters – popping up out of the blue, followed by pictures.  I definitely didn’t want to hear about the baby girl that Mateo and Jordyn are expecting this year. I know it’s selfish, but their joy is salt in my wounds.

I’ve been married for almost three years. My wife blames herself because she thinks she can’t give me a child, and I’m stressed out trying to give her what she needs.  All I want is for things to go back to the way they were before we tried to start a family.

“We’re doing as well as can be expected,” I signal for another drink.  

Mateo’s about to interject, but stops when I frown at him.

“Maybe Jordyn can stop by,” he offers.

“Nope,” I shake my head.  “The last thing Vanessa needs is to see your pregnant wife.”

I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” I rub the bridge of my nose.  “I didn’t mean that. We’re happy for you. Really.  It’s just been hard for us.”

“It’s okay,” he squeezes my shoulder.  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.  We want to help but don’t know how.”

“Join the club,” I mutter as the lights go dim and the music turns up.

Neon lights swirl around the dark room, then the spotlight shines on a curvy brunette and two other strippers.  The guys hoot and holler as the women make their way toward our group.

“Surprise!” shouts Lenny.

The busty brunette heads straight for Aaron.  The strings on the red bikini top are as thin as thread.  She wiggles her hips and turns her barely-there ass around so Aaron can get a better view.  Aaron’s jaw falls to the floor. So much for him marrying the most beautiful woman in the world.

A deep brown-skinned girl, who looks to be in her mid-twenties, makes her way in my direction.  I sit up as soon as I notice. I hope she goes for Mateo and leaves me alone. Her dark eyes stare into mine as she winds her hips to the beat of the island drum.  I swallow the last of the rum in my glass. She takes it, setting it on the table, then bends over me. Her large breasts spilling into my face.

I lean back not wanting her to come in contact with me.  She’s pretty, but she’s not Vanessa. The stripper spins around, drops her ass to the floor, then bounces up, jiggling her ass in my face.  I lick my lips, wishing the woman standing over me was my wife instead of an exotic dancer.

I look to my right and notice her two friends making their rounds.  Why is this particular one so focused on me? Her bikini-covered breasts come into view again as she attempts to straddle me.  I put my hands on her shoulders and gently push her back. In case that’s not enough, I shake my head and gesture to my wedding ring.

“So?” she smirks, then props her stilettoed foot on the arm of my chair.

If I had met her four years ago, I’d love every minute of this.  As it stands, I’m married to someone this girl doesn’t come close to.  She bends over and I pull back from her.

“You’re not hearing me,” I grip her shoulders tight.  She gasps with a shocked look on her face. “Unless you’re my wife, I have no use for you.”

I stand up, almost knocking her down.  She curses at me, but the music drowns her out.   I wave goodbye to Aaron as I head for the bar exit.  

The doorbell rings a sixth time.  I bang on the door, knowing this will only piss her off even more.  I’ve been getting under her skin since she heard of me, and at this point I don’t care.

“Do you know what time it is?  I have -” The front door swings open.

“Hi, Alicia.”  Her light brown eyes widen at the sight of me.  I have no idea what I look like, but I’m sure I smell like cigarettes, booze, and ass.  “I’m sorry for coming by so late.”

“It’s okay,” she says, stepping back to let me inside.  “What’s going on?”

“I know I have no right to be here,” I admit while standing in the foyer.  

I don’t want to bring her in the middle of what’s happening between me and Vanessa, but I need all the help I can get.  If she won’t listen to me, maybe Alicia can get her to snap out of it.

“I can’t get through to her.  I’m losing her.”

She stares at me for what seems like forever before asking, “This isn’t any of my business, but where did you just come from?”

Normally I’d read this as Alicia’s overprotective nature, but considering the time of night and the possibility I might smell like the club, I don’t take offense.  Besides, I’m the one who came to her house.

“Aaron’s bachelor party,” I answer

“Usually guys look like they’ve had the time of their life,” she says, turning to walk down the hall to the family room, “but you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I shuffle behind her.

“So what’s happening with my sister?” she gets straight to the point.  “Is she still drinking?”

“Yeah,” I reply, taking a seat in the chair across from her. “She was using Cairo’s doghouse as a hiding place until I found the bottles.  I poured them out, which led to an argument. And, of course, she still won’t talk to me.”

“She won’t talk to us either,” Alicia sighs as she cracks her knuckles.  “I can’t believe she’s doing this to herself. Cairo’s doghouse?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.  I couldn’t believe it either when I found the bottle nestled in the corner.  “I’m afraid to leave her alone. I wasn’t going out tonight, but Tabitha said she’d keep Vanessa company.”

“Tabitha isn’t drinking with Vanessa, is she?” Alicia asks.

“No.  She seems to be the only one Vanessa isn’t fighting with,” I explain.  “Tabitha’s getting married, I can’t expect her to babysit my wife.”

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

“Short of clubbing Vanessa over the head and dragging her to a therapist or rehab, I don’t know what to do,” I reply.  

“What about church?” Alicia asks. “Have you been in touch with Pastor Miller?”

“He and I have talked, but Vanessa won’t speak to him.  She’s too pissed with God,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “I can’t say I blame her.”

“Maybe so, but she needs this.  Both of you do,” she sighs. “I know you and I haven’t exactly gotten along, but I do care about you.  You’re not going to be much help to Nessa if you’re not okay.”

I’m surprised by the revelation that Alicia actually cares about me.  We’ve been cordial to each other, but we’re not exactly warm and fuzzy.  I wish I could relish in her admission, but now isn’t the time.

“How do I get her to a place she refuses to go to?” I sigh.

“You don’t,” Alicia states.  “Instead of trying to get Vanessa to do anything, how about you do the very thing you want her to do?”

“Yeah,” I begin, “but I don’t want to go to counseling alone.”

“It doesn’t look like you have a choice,” she shrugs.  “Vanessa isn’t as strong as she tries to be and she’s prideful.  She needs you, but she won’t make it easy. There’s only so much you can take.  If you’re going to support your wife, then you need someone supporting you.”

“What are you proposing?” I wonder.

“That you seek counseling from Pastor Miller,” Alicia says.  “Hopefully Vanessa will see a change in you and will stop fighting something that can’t be undone.”

Vanessa Parsons

“Why are we stopping?” I ask, as Kento pulls the Lexus over to the curb.

“We need to talk,” he states, turning off the engine.

“Here?  Now?” I frown.  I’m in no hurry, but I still don’t want to prolong the unavoidable.

“Yes,” he replies as he faces me.  “I’ve been struggling with encouraging you and remaining optimistic, and it’s exhausting.  I can’t do it anymore.”

“We’re almost at the finish line and now you want to quit,” I joke.

“I’m serious,” I begin, “it’s not like you don’t see right through me.  We know what I’m trying to do and I don’t know if I can keep it up.”

I lean over and kiss him gently.  This is my fault. He wouldn’t be tormenting himself if I wasn’t acting like this again.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” I sigh.  “Sometimes I’m in a fog and can’t seem to find my way out of it.  I don’t always stop and consider how you’re feeling. I guess a part of me still feels like I failed you.”

“You -”

I hold up my hand to stop him.  “I’m well aware that our miscarriages aren’t my fault,” I continue, “but once in awhile I wonder what-if.  That what-if keeps me from getting my hopes up.  I appreciate your efforts, but I shouldn’t have let you carry the same burden as before.”

 

Early June

One year ago

The diamonds in my wedding band flicker in the sunlight.  I’m on my way home from a photo shoot for Tabitha. My new photography business is actually taking off.  I didn’t think I’d photograph models, but you show up when your best friend’s starting her own clothing line.

The sparkling ring catches my attention again.  I remember the day Kento slid it on my finger while reciting his vows.  I can’t believe it’s been three years. After everything we’ve been through, it feels like a lifetime ago.

Oh God, how did we get here?  I assumed we’d have difficulties with our families or some obnoxious ex.  Never in a million years did I think our marriage would suffer when we tried having children.  There’s no family history of miscarriages or stillbirths, so I didn’t have a reason to suspect I’d have any complications.  To make matters worse, none of the doctors gave us a concrete reason for our losses. With no real explanation all I’ve done is blame myself.  A wife should be able to give her husband a child.

After my first miscarriage I went into a mild depression, but I was able to come out of it.  I don’t know, maybe it’s because I hadn’t had enough time to get attached to the baby. Or maybe I was still hopeful.  Either way, my second pregnancy ending in a stillbirth knocked me on my ass. I could feel life growing inside of me. I was getting to know my son before he entered the world, then he was gone.  Kento and I had to bury our son who didn’t get a chance to breathe the same air as us. The weight of that grief swallowed me whole and took me under. I was gone, and sometimes I didn’t want to come back.   

Kento was devastated and I knew it, but I was too broken to be there for him.  I pushed him away whenever he attempted to get near me. His optimism came from a place of love, but I was too angry to receive it well.  And since he was there, I took it out on him whenever he gave me an opportunity. I’m such an asshole.

A horn blows behind me.  I glance up to see the green light.  “Sorry,” I mutter, waving my hand as I accelerate through the intersection.

Kento wants to be a father.  He wants it more than anything.  I notice how his face lights up when he’s around my nieces and nephews.  Lately, he’s been chomping at the bit to take Zara and Yohana to the playground every weekend.  I want him to be happy, but all I’ve done is upset him. I’ve given him ample chances to walk out or cheat on me, but every night he comes home to me.  He hasn’t given up on me – on us.

My hand rests on my flat stomach.  It didn’t take long for the weight to drop off.  While mothers were at the gym juggling their health with their baby’s feedings, I was in bed staring at the ceiling and eating nothing.  Kento had to feed me since I wouldn’t eat. I checked out. The lights were on, but no one was home. After the last pain pill, I reached for the alcohol.

Kento was the best husband a woman could ask for.  He packed up Adam’s nursery and painted over the mural we’d done for our son.  He said he was donating everything, but I knew he couldn’t part with anything anymore than I could.  He kept a watchful eye on me, and he noticed my propensity for gin.

He witnessed my withdrawal from the rest of the world.  One day he found me passed out in the baby’s room. That was the day he removed all traces of alcohol from our home and enlisted the help of our family and friends.  He did all the grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning. I was so far gone there were times when he had to bathe me and wash my hair. He was extremely patient. During all this I wondered how he was coping, but I never asked.  

Yeah, I’m definitely an asshole.

The aroma of slow-cooked pork and miso broth hit me before I walk into the kitchen.  I watch Kento from behind as he prepares ramen, our favorite. At forty years old, he still looks like he’s in his late twenties.  His tank top hangs loose over his muscled shoulders and back. I set my purse and keys on the kitchen table next to the vase Kento made after he broke the other one.  He glances over his shoulder and winks at me. I smile, remembering how his boyish grin always made me tingle inside.

“We’re having ramen for dinner,” he says as he stirs the noodles.  “It’s been awhile since we’ve had it so…”

He shrugs as he dips a spoon in the rich smelling broth.  He blows on it before he lets me have a taste. It’s delicious, like I knew it would be.  He rattles off a few other things we’re having tonight, but I barely listen. I watch as he moves around the kitchen with ease.  He’s a great husband who would make an excellent father. I should be able to give him that, but I can’t.

“I think we should consider surrogacy,” I blurt out.

His brows knit together, “No.”

“Why not?”  I lean on the granite-top island.  “I’ve looked into -”

“Because I don’t want another woman having our child.”  He wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“Well, I can’t have them,” I shrug helplessly.  “This is the next best thing.”

He slams his fist on the counter.  “Are you fucking kidding me? You are my wife and you will be the mother of our children.  I’m not giving up on that.”

He turns back to the stove, shaking his head, “I don’t want to involve someone else in our marriage.”

“I’m trying to give you what you want,” I explain.

He whips around to face me.  “You’re what I want!”

Kento walks around the island toward me, running his hand through his hair.  Instead of making him happier, I’ve caused him more pain.

“Do I want children?  Yes, but I don’t want them without you.” He lifts my chin.  “All I want is you. I keep telling you that, but you refuse to listen.”

“I’m not a very good wife,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.

“You’re a great wife, but you’re stubborn as hell.  Let me grieve with you. Stop pushing me away, because I’m not going anywhere.”

He holds me against him.  I start to pull away when his arms tighten around me.  All this time, I’ve been battling my one true ally. I can’t continue fighting someone who’s trying to save me.  He deserves so much better than that.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his soft lips.  He tastes of salty miso broth. My heart races as this simple act sends shivers down my spine.  I pull his tank top over his head. His sculpted chest is hot to the touch. More kisses are placed along my neck as my blazer drops to the floor.  

Kento grabs my ass, pressing his bulge against my stomach.  The pot of noodles boils on the stove while he removes my blouse.  The hairs on my neck stand on end when he caresses the small of my back.  I arch my back hoping his lips will make their way to my breasts. Instead he travels back toward my lips.  My fingers get tangled up in his hair. Kento’s hands slide down my hips, removing my pencil skirt and panties.  The granite slab of the island is cool against my bare skin.

Spreading my legs, I push his head down to my core.  He tickles my clit with his tongue. Everything – the feel of his lips, the heat of his body – is familiar, yet altogether new.  It’s been too long. My head rolls to the side. Steam swells above the stove. I close my eyes as Kento’s erection fills me. My tears land on the slab countertop.  He turns my face toward him and gazes down at me. His cock penetrating deeper with each thrust. I reach for him as he takes hold of my hips.

An incessant beeping blares in the distance.  Resting my head against Kento’s, I hold onto his sweaty shoulder as he pumps in and out of me.  I’m about to come, but I don’t want him to stop. Something flashes to the right of me, but all I notice is Kento’s brown eyes drinking me up.  The wall is slick with the sweat from my back. My thighs are sore and will probably bruise, but I don’t want Kento to stop. I – we – need this.

My fingers grab his hair as I come.  My hips buck against him as my core tightens around his cock.  He holds me tight against his warm body as he comes inside of me.  When our breathing begins to slow, I realize what the beeping is and why Cairo is losing his mind.  

“Shit,” Kento murmurs breathlessly.  “Our dinner.”

He sets me down and pulls up his boxers.  He removes the pots and pans from the stove while I put on my blouse.  I open the patio door and let Cairo out, then fan the smoke away from the detector with my blazer, and finally the beeping stops.  Kento comes up from behind and wraps his arms around me.

I look over my shoulder, “I’m so sorry for how I acted towards you.  You were trying to help and I was being an ass. Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” his mouth presses against mine.

Kento Parsons

“Can we just admit we’re afraid, and that’s okay?” I ask while we’re still parked on the side of the road.

She lowers her voice, “I confess I’m scared out of my mind, and if today doesn’t…,” she shakes her head.  “I don’t know if I can do this again.”

These past couple of years have been difficult.  From handling my own emotions and tap dancing around Vanessa’s, I worried our marriage would fall apart.  After speaking with Alicia, I sought counseling with Pastor Miller on my own. Vanessa eventually came along for a few sessions before she stopped altogether.  In return, I quit pushing Vanessa and started praying for her.

Our losses took a toll on her in ways I can’t fully comprehend.  As much as I want to be a father, Vanessa’s health and well-being are more important.    

Caressing her cheek, I lean over and kiss her softly.  “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that isn’t what you want to hear,” she begins, “but I’d rather we focus on each other and not so much on what we don’t have.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” I murmur as my lips make their way to her neck.  “I’ll focus on you all day every day.”

“I’m being serious,”she giggles.

“So am I,” I whisper in her ear.

“We’re going to be late,” she laughs.

“Well, it’s not like they can start without us,” I tilt up her chin and kiss her deeply.       

 

Late July

Ten and a half months ago

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls from her office.

She’s not expecting me today, although she should.  I thought I made it clear that I could show up at any time and any place.  I warned her not to let her guard down. I lock the door and close the blinds.  Fortunately, I came at a time when she didn’t have any clients waiting for her. I make my way through the small reception area.  My eyes take in the curvy beauty before me. Damn, she looks good. I knew I had to have her for lunch when I saw what she was wearing this morning. 

She focuses on the papers spread across her desk.  The white shirt dress she’s wearing comes to the middle of her thighs, revealing long, light brown legs.  Any man with a pulse would have a hard-on as soon as he saw her. She looks to her right when I place my hand on her hip.  I taste the softness of her neck. The scent of vanilla fills me as I peck the spot behind her ear. She arches her back, pressing her ass against my arousal.

“I had a feeling you’d be stopping by,” she whispers, reaching back to run her fingers through my hair.

“Did you?”

“Mmhmm,” she smiles as she turns to face me.

“For a moment, I didn’t think you were ready for me,” I gaze into hazel eyes.

Vanessa licks her lips, “I’m always ready.”

My eyes follow her slender fingers as she unbuttons her dress.  The soft fabric slides off her glistening skin. Vanessa stands before me in nothing but a pair of high heels.  I take in the fullness of her breasts and her slender waist. My fingers trace down her neck, over her brown peaks to her stomach.  I caress her lower abdomen along the faint stretch marks that remain.

Her ankle slides up my leg exposing her core.  I lick my lips at the sight of her clit. My hard-on strains to get out.  I push my slacks down to the floor as Vanessa’s long stem makes its way onto my shoulder.  Here I thought she wasn’t ready, when it’s me who’s ill-prepared.

Vanessa rests on her desk as she pulls me closer to her.  She teases me with a smile while I take off my shirt. Our eyes lock as I enter her slow and deep.  Her wetness feels so hot. I fight the urge to come and she knows this. The muscles in her core tighten around my cock.  I see how this is going to be.

Her thighs are draped over my forearms as I slam my erection into her.  I’m hypnotized by the jiggle of her breasts. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with Vanessa’s  breathless moans echo throughout the office. She arches her back and winds her hips. I grip her ass, pounding into her.  We’re about to come when the doorbell rings.

“Are you shittin’ me?” I growl.  “Tell me you’re not expecting anyone.”

Vanessa tries to sit up, but I’ve come too far to end things like this.  Whoever is on the other side of the door will have to wait. I’ve been craving Vanessa’s ass since I watched it sashay out the front door this morning.

“It’s probably the delivery guy,” she says as she gives up on trying to stop me.  “Is the door locked?”

“Uh huh.”

That damn delivery guy has a thing for Vanessa.  The thought of him in this office dropping off packages while my wife is in a dress with no bra and panties on infuriates me.  Not to mention the fact that he’s interrupting my lunch.

I pull her off the desk and spin her around.  Her hands are pinned under mine as I fuck her from behind.  The desk scrapes across the floor with each thrust. Vanessa’s moans grow louder as she comes all over my cock.  In case he missed the ring on her finger, maybe this will help him out.

Vanessa Parsons

My mood has lightened a little after Kento’s impromptu pep talk, but I’m in a hurry to get this over with.  I no longer want to feel as if my life is at a standstill. If I don’t ever get another chance, just this once, I’d like to come home with a baby swaddled in my arms.  

“Hey,” Kento calls.  “You’re doing it again.”

“What?” I ask.

“Zoning out on me,” he states.  

“Sorry, I’m…” I shrug.

“Vanessa, the three of us are going to be fine,” he assures me.

 

September

Nine months ago

Cairo curls up next to me as I sit at the foot of the bed, massaging arnica and lavender oil over the bruises along the inside of my thighs.  Sex has been pretty rough these last few months. I smile to myself as I recall the time Kento and I had sex in Tabitha’s pantry while she was throwing a party.

Our lives improved the moment we decided to focus on our marriage and not so much on getting pregnant.  Just because we don’t have children of our own doesn’t mean our lives aren’t full. Between my nieces and nephews, Ezekiel and Lana’s two rascals, and Jordyn and Mateo’s newborn, Carmen, we’re never going to be without the laughter and joy that children bring.

My cell phone chimes, reminding me to get ready for my date with Kento.  The pooch follows me as I head into the bathroom for a shower. After my shower, I instinctively reach for a tampon before realizing I’m not on my period.  I feel like I should be on by now. Instead of calculating the dates in my head, I check the app on my cell.

Oh, shit!  I’ve been on track every month until now.  I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head. I don’t like what this implies, but I need to know.  There should still be a pregnancy test in one of the drawers. Please God, don’t let me be pregnant.  

I remove the contents out of the box and don’t bother reading the directions.  After taking the test I leave the little pee stick on the sink, then get dressed for my date.  I put on a sleeveless, sheer, white shirt with dark blue jean shorts. I tuck the front of the shirt into my shorts.  My eyes glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s been over ten minutes, but I refuse to check the test. Maybe if I ignore it, my period will show up.

My outfit is complete, but I still need to do my hair and makeup.  The moment of truth rests on the counter while I stare at it, hoping it’s a false alarm.  The likelihood of me being pregnant is slim. Maybe my hormones are the reason my period’s late.  After wasting time doing nothing, I finally grow a pair and look at the results.

The plus sign blurs as my eyes fill with tears.  Droplets land on my shirt. We’ve been through enough already.  We can’t go through this again. Our marriage is just now getting back on track.  Cairo, sensing something’s wrong, licks my feet then rests his head on them. It must be nice being a dog.  

I dread telling Kento.  Each time I told him we were expecting, he was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to share the news with everyone.  And each time he ended up with a broken heart and a depressed wife. Maybe I don’t have to say anything. If the test is accurate, I can’t be far along.  I could get an abortion and he’d be none the wiser.

“It’s not like this one will live anyway,” I mutter to myself.

I smack my forehead as soon as the words leave my mouth.  How could I say such a thing? How could I consider having an abortion?  In spite of everything I’ve been through – emotionally, physically, and spiritually – I could never take the life of our child.

The garage door rumbles, indicating Kento’s arrival.  I slip the test under a towel and start working on my hair.  I pull the top half of my curls in a bun and let the rest hang loose down my back.  Cairo jumps up and runs downstairs to greet Kento. Quickly, I wash my face and apply mascara and lipgloss.  Today’s an au natural kind of day. Plus I want to get out of the bathroom and away from that damn pee stick.

When I make it downstairs, Kento’s closing the patio door.  Cairo’s outside running after a couple of squirrels. Kento notices me standing in the dining alcove.  He strolls over to me and leans against the wall.

“You look sexy,” he announces with a sly smile.  “Where are you off to?

He twirls my hair around his fingers.

Smiling, I reply, “On a date.”

“A date?” he unbuttons my shorts as he stares into my eyes.  “With who?”

I can’t wipe the smile off my face.  I’ll tell him about the test, but not now.

“I don’t know.”  I step out of my shorts.  “Some tall, hot guy I met at a restaurant.”

“Hmm,” he raises his eyebrows while he removes my shirt.  “He must be someone special if you’re dressed like this.”

I stand before him wearing a black satin bra with a matching thong and high heel sandals.  My date night outfit lies in a pile at my feet.

“You’re hopeless,” I roll my eyes.

I help him take off his paint-stained short sleeved shirt and jeans.  Flecks of paint are splayed across his arms. I stare at the bulge in his boxer briefs.  It doesn’t look like we’re going out tonight.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it to dinner,” he smirks at me.  

His boxer briefs come off and he cups my face, planting a hard kiss on my mouth.  I wrap my legs around him as he carries me upstairs.

An hour has passed and we’re still in bed.  Kento caresses my thigh while my head rests on his chest, rising and falling with every breath he takes.  His heart beating in my ear.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he kisses the top of my head.

I close my eyes, listening to his heart pound in his chest.  Having a spouse that understands you can be a blessing and a curse.  You can’t hide anything from them.

“V, I know you like the back of my hand,” he says.  “Plus, after all that time we spent keeping track of when you were ovulating, I’ve learned more about your menstrual cycle than I’d care to admit.  So what’s going on?”

He silently waits for me to respond while he traces the small of my back.  I have the words to say, but I can’t find my voice. Kento’s patient while I tell him what he already suspects.

“I took a test and it came back positive,” the sadness in my voice casts a shadow on the news

“That’s great,” his tone is cautious.  I can tell he’s holding back his happiness for my sake.

He tilts my face and kisses me.  His warm body rolls on top of mine and I let him enter me.  His erection is too much for me. I lift my hips so he can go deeper.  The pleasurable pain that comes from each thrust distracts me from the pregnancy test hiding underneath the towel.

Kento kisses my tear-streaked cheeks as he grinds his hips against me.  I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want to get my hopes up only to have my heart broken.  The thought of losing another baby is too much to bear.

The tears don’t stop and neither does Kento.  The pleasure he gives is like a soothing balm.  Although this feeling is temporary, I want all of him.  He rolls me on top, holding me tight against his chest. I press my forehead against his as he wipes away my tears.  I ride him until he comes.

Kento Parsons

We enter the parking garage and travel up three levels before finding an available space.  Vanessa twirls her hair around her fingers while she nibbles her bottom lip. I clasp her hand and bring it up to my mouth where I kiss her softly.  She peeks over at me with a slight smile.

“This is a normal, everyday procedure,” I explain.  “We have excellent doctors who know what they’re doing, and a compassionate God who’s in control.”

“I know,” she nods.  “I’m just a little anxious.”

My lips brush against her forehead before exiting the car to grab our bags.  Vanessa’s hands are back in her hair by the time I reach her door to help her out of the car.  My fingers intertwine with hers as I pull her close to me. Silence falls between us. There’s really no need to say anything more.  The time has come for us to accept that this is out of our hands. We have to believe we’ll leave here with a healthy mother and child even though no one can promise us that will happen.

Vanessa rubs her belly while we wait for the elevator doors to slide open.  Her brows furrow ever so slightly. I follow her onto the elevator and press the button for the fifth floor.

“Are you feeling alright?” I ask.

“The baby hasn’t moved all morning,” she sighs.

 

September

Nine months ago

“Hi Kento and Vanessa,” Dr. Lin shakes our hands as she enters the room.

Vanessa’s legs are crossed at the ankles as she sits on the bed.  I stand next to her with my hand circled around her waist.

“The test came back positive,” she smiles at us over her reading glasses, “and the results reveal no abnormalities.  Congratulations, you’re expecting.”

Vanessa’s back tenses up against me, but she doesn’t say anything.  I’m not sure what to say. This is all bittersweet.

Dr. Lin’s smile turns sympathetic, “I understand your apprehension.  You’ve experienced two traumatic events, but I don’t want you holding back on embracing your pregnancy.  This may not be my place to say, but don’t be afraid to love this child.”

She squeezes Vanessa’s hand, before leaving us alone to process everything.  Vanessa hops off the bed and collects her purse. She hasn’t said a word since we got here.  I hope she doesn’t withdraw again. She reaches for my hand and pulls me toward her. I kiss her plump lips.  My cock hardens against her stomach. We’ve been pretty adventurous with our sex-capades, but a doctor’s office is too risky.

“I love you,” she whispers.

She looks like she has more to say, but stops herself.  I peck her forehead and hold her close. I know this isn’t easy for her.  We’re getting another chance which excites me, but I’m worried what this will do to Vanessa.

 

March

Three months ago

The room is stark white and empty.  We need to start furnishing it, but Vanessa’s in no hurry.  We’re in our second trimester and, so far so good, no complications.  I’m encouraged this time around even if Vanessa is less enthusiastic.

“We really should do something about this,” I point out when she walks up to me.

She glances around the empty room.  “We have time.”

I look down at her and she smiles at me.  She’s not as depressed as I thought she’d be, but she’s definitely detached herself.  She doesn’t talk or sing to the baby like she did with Adam. I thought of persuading her to be hopeful, but I don’t want to push her away.  

I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pressing my lips to the top of her head.  I love my wife, but she needs to snap out of it. We have to have faith and stay encouraged.  She shouldn’t miss out on this because of what happened in the past. It’s in this moment I decide to work on the baby’s room.  No more walking on eggshells. We’re having a baby. It’s time we start acting like it.

Vanessa Parsons

We walk slowly down the wide corridor with its fluorescent lighting.  Nurses bustle around wearing smiles on their faces, grabbing patient charts while making small talk with each other. We approach the nurses’ station where we’re met by a round-faced, young woman named Beth

“Good morning.  How are you?” she greets warmly.  “Are you checking in?”

“Yes,” Kento speaks up.  

I give her my name and date of birth, watching her short fingers fly over the keyboard.  My hand rubs and presses on my belly, hoping to elicit some sort of response from my baby.  There doesn’t appear to be anything else wrong. I’m not going to overreact. If there’s no pain or blood, then it’s all good.

“How are baby and mommy doing this morning?” She smiles.

“I think we’re doing okay,” I reply.  “There hasn’t been much action since I woke up, so…”

“That’s not unusual.” Her eyes soften with empathy. “But I’ll let Dr. Lin know.”

Kento wraps his arm around me.  To the outside world, we look like any other petrified, expectant parents, but our worry isn’t so much about what to do when the baby cries.  It’s whether or not we’ll actually have a baby to take home.

We take a seat and fill out the papers Beth just handed us.  I glance around and notice another pregnant woman sitting in the corner alone.  There’s no wedding ring on her finger. I hope she has someone to support her – a boyfriend or a family member.  This isn’t something any woman should do alone.

 

March

Three months ago

“Are you sure you don’t want a baby shower?” my mother asks as she helps me set up the tripod.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I answer.  “I’d rather wait until the baby is born – alive and well.”

I avoid her eyes, not wanting to have this conversation right now.  Focusing on work is the best thing for me. I lay the macro arm light onto the table.  There’s a good possibility I’ll need my light stand too. I lean it against the table.  

“Vanessa, are you treating yourself well?” Her voice is gentle.

Well, it looks like we’re talking about it.  At least it’s my mother. I don’t have to sugar coat anything with her.  I can say what I can’t say to Kento or anyone else. Some people see a pregnant woman and assume she should be happy; and if she’s not, then she must be ungrateful.  If only it were that simple.

“I take my prenatal vitamins and I watch my diet,” I sigh, “but I can’t bring myself to bond with the baby.”

“You don’t want to risk bonding with a child that might not make it,” she states as a matter of fact.

“Exactly.”  Finally, somebody who gets it.

“I see,” she sits in the chair across from the table.  “So this child that God created isn’t worth the risk?”

I know where she’s going with this.  Sighing, I start rearranging the camera lenses in front of me.  I need to make sure I have everything for the editorial spread I’m shooting for a fashion magazine.  Maybe if I don’t answer, she’ll let it go.

“God chose you and Kento to have this particular child.”  She crosses her legs, watching my busy hands. “To love and care for, provide for, and to prepare for this world.  Are you saying that God’s little creation isn’t worth it?”

I set down my camera.  I should’ve known when my mother offered to be my assistant for the weekend, she’d turn this into a Super Soul Sunday moment.  Thanks a lot, Oprah.  

“God didn’t deem me fit to do any of that with the previous two pregnancies,” my voice strains.  “Why should this one be any different?”

“Hmm,” she purses her lips.  “Since you didn’t get what you wanted the last two times, you’re going to make that baby suffer?”

“Mom, I-”

“Vanessa I know you’re hurting and you’re scared,” she rubs the back of my hand.  “Enduring the loss of a child isn’t easy, but you don’t give up. You most certainly don’t take it out on the survivors.  And before you say anything, this one will survive.”

She walks over and puts her arms around me.  She places my hand on my belly. My touch is met with a swift kick.  I bite my bottom lip, fighting to hold in my emotions.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, laying my head on her shoulder.

“I know you are, baby.”  She holds me close, smoothing my hair like she did when I was a little girl.  “Motherhood is full of unknowns, but you don’t let that stop you from finding the beauty in the life you bring into this world.  Enjoy the development of your baby. Welcome it with open arms; and for heaven’s sake, find out the gender so I can stop calling it ‘it’.”

“You’re right,” I laugh, wiping away my tears.  “Kento’s dying to know, but I’ve been so selfish that he can’t even enjoy becoming a father.”

“Vanessa, you can’t behave like you’re single,” she takes hold of my chin.  “You have a husband who’s never left your side. Do you know how many marriages end after a loss of a child?  Stop punishing him.”

 

I’m resting my head on Kento’s shoulder when Amelia, a tall brunette with a pixie cut, comes to take us to our room.  Along the way I massage my stomach, humming a song my mom used to sing to me when I went through my fear-of-the-dark phase as a kid.  I can’t wait to be the one to ease my son’s fears of the dark, and soothe his pain when he skins his knee.

“Okay, Vanessa,” Amelia begins as we enter the room, “go ahead and get undressed and put on the gown.  It looks like you’re past your due date. We’ll do another ultrasound to check on him before we induce your labor.  Do you have any questions, or need anything?”

Yes.  I need you to promise me everything will go as planned, and we’ll be parents by this afternoon.

“No, I’m fine,” I lie.

 

Early May

One month ago

Dr. Lin squirts a cool gel onto my abdomen then runs the transducer along the area.  A strong heartbeat can be heard just above my navel. My doctor focuses on the images displayed across the computer screen.

“Okay, he is definitely breeched,” she states directly.  “There’s nothing to worry about. If you go past your due date, then we’ll schedule a date to induce you.  If he’s still breeched at that time, then we’ll perform a C-section.”

She wipes the gel off my stomach, then smiles, “You’re in the homestretch.  Keep doing what you’re doing and everything will be fine.”

Kento smiles down at me, then kisses my hand.  Ever since the talk I had with my mother, I’ve made more of an effort to enjoy my pregnancy.  More importantly, I apologized to my husband and asked him not to tiptoe around me. He has every right to be happy.

 

Kento and I are motionless while Dr. Lin glides the transducer along my stomach. When we hear our son’s heartbeat we let out a sigh of relief.  

Dr. Lin chuckles, “Is that the sound you were waiting for?”

“You have no idea,” we say simultaneously.

“With all that’s happened, I can understand,” she says,  “but your son is strong and has no intentions on going anywhere.”

“What makes you say that?”  Kento asks.

“Well, not only are you past your due date,” she replies, “he’s still breeched.  Vanessa, we have to do a C-section. I know this isn’t ideal, but for your safety and your son’s, it’s the best option.”

My grip tightens around Kento’s wrist.  Dr. Lin has discussed our options before.  She provided us with enough information to prepare and scare us.  She’s right.  A C-section isn’t something I  want to endure, with its lengthy recovery time, but if it means we get to take our son home, then so be it.

 

June 3

The sun streams through the plantation shutters as I rock back and forth in the chair.  It’s the same chair we picked out when we were pregnant with Adam. Aaron helped Kento bring all the baby furniture back to our house.  They, along with Tabitha, Nate, and my sister, decorated the room back in March. It turns out Kento had asked my mother to be my assistant so I’d be too busy receiving unsolicited therapy to even think about what was happening while I was away.

They did a fantastic job.  Fortunately, we were able to reuse some of the items from the previous pregnancy, but a few things had to be discarded for safety reasons.  We didn’t paint my belly this time around. That’s a memory reserved for Adam. We’ll create new ones with this sweet boy.

Sharp pain shoots through my abdomen.  I hold my stomach waiting for it to subside.  The throbbing is followed by three swift kicks.  I remain in the rocking chair, steadying my breathing.  

Please God, don’t take this one too.

I glance down and notice a bump, then it disappears.  The baby stirs a little before coming to rest. The discomfort disappears and I breathe a sigh of relief.  Then I chuckle as I realize the bump was probably the baby’s elbow or foot.

 

“Okay, Vanessa,” Dr. Lin’s muffled voice comes from behind the sheet.  “You’re going to feel some pressure. That’s just us removing your baby.”

Everything below the sheet is numb and that terrifies me.  Thankfully my arms are free. There was absolutely no way I was letting them strap down my arms.  I squeeze Kento’s hand so hard I might break it.

“You’re doing great, V.”  Kento wipes sweat off my brow.  “It’ll be over soon.”

He’s about to look over the sheet when something stops him.

“Kento, I know you’re excited,” Dr. Lin says. “But you’re not going to want to see this.”

There’s an immense amount of pressure coming from the lower half of my torso.  All I can do is lay there.

“Here we go,” Dr. Lin announces.  

Nurses gather at the end of the operating table.  Their arms move quickly behind the sheet. I’m waiting to hear a baby cry or for someone to say something, but that’s not happening.

“Is the baby out?” I ask.

No one answers.  I stare wide-eyed at Kento.  He attempts to see what’s going on when a male nurse stops him.

“What’s going on?” I try to sit up before remembering I can’t.

“Whoa, relax Vanessa,” Kento lays a hand on my shoulder.

My questions go unanswered.  People are huddled around my child who isn’t crying.  Don’t they realize Kento and I are the last parents to keep in the dark?  

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on with my son?” I shout.

Wailing suddenly fills the operating room.  Soon after, I join my son as tears stream down my face.  It’s over. Life can finally stop standing still. I welcome his crying while the nurses quickly clean him up.  Amelia walks toward us and places the baby on my chest.

“Hi, Elijah,” I whisper, as he settles down in my arms.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Kento wraps his arms around us as he takes in our little blessing.  He kisses my cheek, “Great job, Mom.”

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” I chuckle.

We gaze at our tiny bundle a little longer.  Kento takes the time to count Elijah’s fingers and toes even though Dr. Lin confirms everything is where it’s supposed to be.  A nurse stands nearby waiting to take Elijah up to the nursery. I nuzzle him close to me, not wanting to let him go. The sound of him taking in little breaths of air melts my heart.  He blinks slowly then stares at me with the most breathtaking hazel eyes.

“He’s going to break some hearts with those eyes,” Kento smiles.  

“Don’t remind me,” I smile.  “I’m not ready for that.”

“Vanessa,” Amelia interrupts, “we have to take him upstairs and stitch you up.  You’ll be able to see Baby Elijah soon.”

I lock my fingers together, longing for more time with my baby.  

“Hey, I won’t let him out of my sight.” Kento gently places Elijah in the nurse’s arms.  He bends toward me, his lips brushing against mine. “He’s here, and in one piece. Get some rest.”

 

Spring

Almost four years later

Elijah’s short, chubby legs carry him around the orange tree as he giggles.  A light breeze flows through his dark, brown curls. The California sun kisses his honey-brown skin.  His legs pump to a lemon tree as he pants heavily. He hides behind the tree for a few moments before he peeks around, his eyes sparkle in the light.

Just then, Kento fakes left, then right, and reaches the three year old before he has a chance to get away.  Kento picks him up and tickles his side. Elijah erupts in a fit of laughter. I smile at the sight of my husband and our son.  They’ve been at their game of hide and seek for an hour now. I shake my head to myself as I water the garden.

“I can’t wait for you to meet your father and brother.  You’re going to be so loved,” I say, rubbing my belly.

What feels like an elbow pushes out and meets my touch.  The fluttering that was so frequent in my second trimester has morphed into an elbow here and a kick there.  The longer I’m pregnant, the less room the twins have to move around. Fortunately the cramped space has allowed me to know which one is which.  The baby on the top left elbows me and the one on the bottom right is the kicker. I wonder if this is an indication of what their personalities will be like.  If so, Kento and I are going to have our hands full.

Speaking of my handsome husband, he jogs through the yard with Elijah propped up on his shoulders. Elijah’s arms are spread out to the side as he mimics an airplane. They make their landing just a few feet away from me.

“Again! Again!” Elijah shouts as Kento lifts him up and sets him on the ground.

Breathless, Kento replies, “In a few minutes. Daddy wants to check on Mommy and the babies.”

“Mmhmm,” I smirk.  “Daddy’s age is showing.”

Chuckling, he reaches for me and pulls me into his sweaty arms.  His hand cups the back of my head as he goes in for a kiss. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together; Kento’s kisses always take my breath away.  His tongue plunges deep into my mouth. If I weren’t so far a long and if Elijah weren’t tugging on my dress, I’d make love to Kento right here, right now.

“Mommy,” Elijah calls as his tugs become more urgent. “Let go of Daddy. He needs to take me flying.”

Kento rests his forehead against mine.  I gaze into his eyes. The intensity in them confirms he wants me as much as I want him.  He has my attention a few moments longer before a tiny hand pats him on the arm.

“Daddy?” Elijah looks up at his father as he stands on the bench.  “Mommy’s okay. Can we go play now?”

“Yes, you and Daddy can play,” I laugh and pull Elijah in for a hug.  My son kisses me on the cheek, then jumps off the bench and runs toward Cairo’s dog house.

Kento closes his eyes and sighs, “Where does he get all this energy?”

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask.  “Do you recall your rock climbing escapades?”

“That was exercise,” he points out.

“And the hiking, mountain biking, and running several times a week?” I ask. “You don’t exactly know how to be idle.”

“I was trying to stay in shape for you,” he leans into kiss me again.

“Yeah, right,” I say, lightly pushing him away. “You better hop to it before Elijah gives you a piece of his mind.”

Kento jogs over to Elijah and Cairo.  He picks up Cairo’s frisbee and hands it to Elijah.  Elijah flicks his wrist sending the plastic sphere into the air.  Cairo takes off and catches it in his mouth. He’s getting up in age, but he’s still able to keep up with all of us. I hope Cairo can handle the twins.

Speaking of which, I turn my attention to the garden that houses all the vegetables I use to make dinner for my family.  Off to the side of the vegetable garden under the pergola are three containers full of red and white chrysanthemums. I planted two pots of white mums to symbolize the devoted love Kento and I have for each other. After Elijah was born I added red to symbolize our love for our son.  Now I’m making space for two more pots of the red flower for our little girls.

It took a lot of work for us to get here, especially me.  I can’t undo the trauma I endured, nor would I want to. For so long I tried to be in control of what was happening to me.  After the miscarriage and the stillbirth, I learned that I’m not in control, nor should I be. Things happen for a reason and, even though I don’t have the answers to all my questions, I know there were lessons Kento and I needed to learn. We are stronger as a result of what we went through. I’m no longer afraid of having hope and living in it.

 

Summer

Five years after that

I stand from afar, watching my family and friends enjoy each other’s company.  Kento, Nate, and Kento’s friends gather around the grill talking about sports. My grown nephews, Langston and Everett, join in the conversation.  My goodness, how time flies. It seems like yesterday when I was putting them in their pajamas for bed.

Helene, my oldest niece, talks to Tabitha about a fashion internship she just landed.  My eighteen year old niece, Amina, takes selfies with Zara and Yohana. I take a few candid shots of the girls, then move onto Alicia, Jordyn, and Lana.  The women are chatting about, of all things, hair. I snap a few more photos of them when they start dancing.

Right when I’m about to get a shot of my parents and my in-laws, Elijah, runs through the frame.  I lower the camera to see what that little rascal’s up to. Then I get my answer. My five-year-old twins run after him with their fists shaking in the air.

“No fair Eli!” my youngest, Malia, shouts.  Her long, curly ponytail trails behind her. “We tagged you first!”

Elijah sticks his tongue out at his sisters, then runs off with Simon, Tabitha and Aaron’s oldest son.  I shake my head at my mischievous boy who looks like a miniature Kento.

“Mommy!” Makayla calls out with her hands on her hips.  “Eli won’t play right!”

Those little girls look and act so much like me it’s not even funny.  I get a quick photo of them before I walk over to intervene. I take two steps when my father-in-law, Henry, scoops up my daughters and tickles them.  The twins quickly forget their squabble with Elijah.

I sit back on the picnic table and continue taking photos.  The pictures of the kids playing brings joy to my heart. Simon and Elijah are enthralled by Carmen, who’s relaying a fascinating story about frogs and slugs.  Miles, Tabitha and Aaron’s youngest child, follows behind Damien, Carmen’s little brother, as he builds a fort for his action figures.

Kento glances in my direction.  He hands his beer off to Ezekiel and strides over to me.  I watch his approach through the lens of my camera. He’s sexier now than when we first met with his lean muscle and clean-shaven face.  His thick, dark hair is peppered with gray strands. He’s wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts, similar to what he wore on our second date to Arcadia Rock Canyon.

A grin appears on his face right when I take a photo.  I lower the camera when Kento’s within a few feet of me.  He reaches for it and places it on the table. He takes hold of my face and kisses me deeply.  My arms circle around his neck. His hands slide down to my waist.

“Do you need me to model for you?” he gazes at me.  “I’ve been told I look damn good when I go shirtless.”

I shake my head laughing at my husband.  We’ve been through so many ups and downs throughout our thirteen-year marriage.  Our hearts broke from circumstances beyond our control. We were able to heal once we took down the walls that separated us.  Kento never denied that he needed me to get through our mess, but my pride got in the way. I had to get over myself and let him be my husband.  We eventually stopped blaming and started forgiving.

“Ha! By who?” I laugh.

“What do you mean?” he feigns shock.  “You know I look good for fifty.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I guess.”

He smacks my ass.  “Do you want to break out the body paint when the kids are asleep?”

After the twins were born, the doctors said we were lucky.  Kento and I told them we were blessed. The doctors also said we’d never conceive again.

“You’re so naughty,” I tease.

“So is my partner in crime,” he smirks.

He places a hand on my stomach.  There’s a tiny pooch underneath my flowing, maxi dress.

“When do you want to tell them?” he wonders.

I look down and answer, “After the first trimester.”

He nods his head in agreement, then he locks eyes with mine.

“Remember when you came to my old job, begging for a second chance?” I reminisce.

“I wasn’t begging,” he shakes his head slightly.

“Yes, you were,” I step closer in his embrace.  “Remember how angry I was?”

“I sure do,” the corner of his mouth pulls into a half smile.

“I don’t regret giving you a second chance.”

“You’re my muse,” he declares.  “I wasn’t going to let you slip away.”

Twigs break as a stampede heads for us.  Kento is jolted into me as our children run into him.  

“Daddy!  Can we make s’mores?” Makayla’s gleaming smile reaches her hazel eyes.

“Yeah, you promised!” bellows Malia as she tugs on Kento’s shorts.

Kento looks at me with pleading eyes.

“Uh uh,” I shake my head.  “You promised.”

I chuckle as I take a picture of the frown on Kento’s face.

“Do they have s’mores in Paris?” Elijah’s mouth twists.  “I don’t want to move there if they don’t.”

“Yes, Eli,” I ruffle his curly hair.  

“And to think, we’re about to have another one,” Kento murmurs.

We head back to rejoin our going away party.  Elijah delivers the news about the much anticipated snack.  Mateo and Aaron roll their eyes in frustration once they realize they have to help Kento make the tasty treat.  

I plop down next to Tabitha.  She offers up her glass of wine.  

“No, thanks,” I put up my hand.

She raises her eyebrow at me.  We’ve known each other for over twenty-five years.  Soon we’ll be thousands of miles away, separated by an ocean.  There’s no keeping this from her.  I smile and pat her knee.

“Congratulations,” Tabitha whispers in my ear.

 

The end…for now

 

By:  Max Sloane