Page 19 of Cascade

“We’re using Opal, the same midwife who caught Indigo’s baby,” Abigail proclaims, and everyone oohs and aahs while Opal blushes. “Opal, tell Rose about your research.”

Abigail drops a hand to her stomach, where I can see the tiny swell of a baby bump starting to form and I realize that my brother really has entered this whole new life phase where he’s not only a serious researcher and plant nerd, but a serious adult who is going to be a father.

I lean against the fence, eavesdropping, unable to tear my eyes away from Opal when she finally begins to talk about her work. It all clicks together, how she works in the practice where I helped out Dotty.

Opal is shy at first, explaining how the midwife practice catches babies at people’s houses, at their birth center, or even at the nearby hospital if that’s what the patients prefer. “But you’re also doing that stuff with Moorely,” Indigo pipes in, causing Hunter to scowl and Moorely to flush.

I stand, rapt, as Opal talks about some sort of data collection grant she has, where she visits people at home and makes notes about their symptoms. She says, “the issue is that far too many women in America die of preventable postpartum complications. Visiting them at home, we’re observing blood pressure and other health symptoms, but also checking their environment and looking for signs of any distress.” Moorely pipes in that his algorithm will start to predict problems and save lives, and my mother gets very, very interested.

“Oh, Opal, you simply must come do a lecture for the students,” she says. “You won’t have to share a stage with Dr. Moorely if you don’t want to,” she teases. Opal grins. Fuck me, this woman is fascinating.

I still have no idea what makes her tick, but finding out that she’s not only an amazing baby catcher but a data nerd like my siblings, well. For some reason that makes her even sexier to me and I decide I better drink some more beer before I can figure out what that says about me.

Is she just slumming it with me while she works out whatever personal problems she’s had with her dad? I look around the yard, at all these people with advanced degrees fawning over Opal and begging her to say more about her work. These are the people she should be around.

I slink off to stand on the other side of the chicken coop, where Hunter’s astronaut pilot friend Digger is taking a leak.

A beer and ten bragging stories from Digger later, and I’ve had about enough socializing. All I can think about is hauling Opal away from here and asking her to talk about algorithms preventing eclampsia. I think that’s what she said. Slumming it or not, she’s sexy as hell when she’s talking about her work. I clap a hand on Digger’s shoulder. “Man, we should definitely work out tomorrow with Hunter. But I gotta get going for tonight.” Digger tries to argue that the party is just getting started, but I’m already making a beeline for Opal.

She’s standing off to the side with my mother, glowing and gesturing with her hands. I stand nearby awkwardly, and listen to her talk about how important it is to visit women at their homes after they have a baby. “They’re often so isolated,” Opal says as my mother nods. “Let’s not even get started about the way this can affect mood and depression. There’s really nobody checking in at all if these women have a cardiovascular problem.”

My mother clutches her chest and tells Opal, “You know, I hardly took any time off after each of my kids were born, but my third—oh, there you are Archer!” She smiles at me. “I was home alone with 3 babies and 45 stitches in my yoni when Daniel had some sort of seminar, and…I can still remember how I felt like I was sinking.”

Opal nods empathetically and my mother tells her she’d like to make a personal donation to the research arm of the birth center. I can tell this is about to turn into a plan for Oak Creek College undergrads to intern with Opal and her colleagues and I jump in before I totally miss my chance to get laid. “Hey, Ma,” I say, “Opal should come have lunch with you this week. Don’t you want to go ask Abigail about oogenesis?”

My mother blinks at me. “Archer, what on earth are you talking about?”

I shrug. “Hunter was saying that word…”

“Is Abigail having a girl? Do they know the sex already? Oh my god. Daniel!” My mother runs off screeching toward my father, leaving me alone with Opal in the dim light at the back of my brother’s yard.

“Hey,” I say, leaning closer. I can see Opal’s chest rise and fall above the aqua colored fabric of that fucking dress. She looks like a vintage pinup model, curves for days and wavy hair strewn everywhere in the sticky heat.

She runs a finger around the rim of her cup nervously. “Hey,” she says.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” I tell her, wincing as I remember the sting of rejection when I try to reach out to her. Remembering the gasping pleasure of helping her melt in my arms when she feels like seeing me.

“Thinking of me how?” She says, a slow smile turning up the corner of her mouth. I can see her green eyes shining in the glow of the fire while my family crows and cheers about the newest impending Crawford.

“Thinking of you buck naked and wrapped around my cock,” I tell her. I toss my beer bottle into the recycling bin and reach around Opal, stroking her backside with my hand, resisting the urge to pull her against my body and feel my hardening crotch.

She makes a low moaning sound and I see her looking around, trying to make sure nobody at the party is looking at us.

“Let’s just get out of here,” I whisper, nodding my head toward the back gate. “Nobody will notice.”

She bites her fingertip and her green eyes scan the yard. It’s true that nobody is looking at us. Indigo and Sara left awhile ago to get Gavin into bed. Moorely and Digger are stoking the fire and everyone else is hoisting Hunter into the air and clapping their hands after rubbing Abigail’s stomach.

I lean past Opal and unlatch the back gate. I tug on her hand and pull her into the alley, walking faster when she starts to giggle. I don’t stop until we get to my house and, after I fuck her ten ways to Tuesday, Opal passes out in my bed exhausted, and I fall asleep inhaling the floral scent of her hair.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Opal

“WHAT EXACTLY IS aerial silks again?” Diana seems sullen as we walk down Main Street toward the location of her former plant shop-research lab. Indigo and Sara got a babysitter and sent a string of very demanding text messages to me, Diana, and Abigail about a coupon deal they got for a silks class in the new studio.

“Circus shit,” Sara says, tugging open the door to the studio. Diana groans despite Sara’s reassurance that it’s supposed to be good exercise. The room is brightly painted with soft lights. From the ceiling, six pairs of fabric strips flow down toward mats on the hardwood floor.

“They’ve made my lab into a literal circus,” Diana scoffs as she looks at herself in the wall of mirrors lining the back of the room.

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