Page 66 of Unexpecting

″Things obviously change in twelve years. You told me that.”

″But I thought—you said—” J.B. stammered. I couldn’t look into his eyes, afraid to see whether there was still anger there, so I stared at his chest instead. His broad, muscular chest covered by the grey T-shirt with the sweaty patches sticking to him. Most of his hair was tied back in a stubby ponytail. Even hot and sweaty, J.B. is still a helluva good-looking guy. It makes me feel that even if David weren’t gay, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

″I guess I was wrong,” I told him stiffly.

″I thought you were together. That he was going to—the whole baby thing…” J.B. was saying.

“He asked me to have his baby,” I explained slowly. “And I might have done it, but then it was too late. I was already pregnant. So now he’s going to Italy to try to make it work with the man he loves. He’s disappointed because he does want a baby—and a baby with me. And I’m still pregnant, whether you want to acknowledge that fact or not. Have fun with your game,” I told him shortly and continued into the house.

I forgot all about the books Ben’s wife sent over for me until the next day, but when I looked in the hallway where I assumed J.B. put them, they were nowhere to be found.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“Nausea in the morning is a common occurrence during the pregnancy, but normally dissipates before the second trimester. Chicken broth and crackers are helpful in relieving the symptoms.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

“Idon’t know whythey call it morning sickness,” I grumbled a week later on Sunday morning. I was eyeing my omelet with a great deal of unease. “It’s morning, noon, and night for me.”

I’d been plagued with it for two entire weeks. It was just like having a hangover, only worse because you couldn’t promise to stop drinking in hopes you’d feel better. I was tired and nauseated all the time except just after I threw up, which was when I felt my best and tried to eat as much as possible, which would inevitably return to haunt me within the hour.

″Do you want me to make you something else?” Cooper asked sympathetically, standing at the stove.

″No, I want this. I’m hungry. But I know I’m going to throw it up after. And I’m sure regurgitated eggs aren’t as nice coming up as they are going down. I still have no stomach for chicken or rice.” I was trying to retain my cheerful demeanor, but it was difficult at times. And this had only been two weeks. I had many more to go.

Emma made a face. “I don’t think I could handle throwing up all the time.”

″I think I must be getting used to it,” I told her, taking a bite. “I’m calling Dr. Dennis tomorrow. Apparently there’s some wonder drug that will help.”

I pushed my plate away. I’d eaten about a quarter of my omelet, and that was about all I could do. Sebastian was sitting on my feet, waiting for the scraps. While I was probably going to be losing weight by not being able to keep anything down, my cat was going to be quite fat eating what I couldn’t manage. I scraped most of the omelet into his upstairs food dish and smiled gratefully as Cooper handed me a plate with hot buttered toast. I could eat toast without it popping back up five minutes later. Toast and French fries and crackers. Everything else was iffy.

″So I think I’ll go shopping this afternoon,” I told them. “Brit’s wedding is coming up, so I won’t have too much free time until that rigmarole is over. I’m going to need some maternity clothes and baby clothes and diapers and a crib, a stroller…” I ticked the items off on my fingers. “I’ve got lots to buy.”

″How far along are you?” Emma asked.

″About eight weeks. Although it really doesn’t seem that long. I mean, they calculate from—”

″Don’t you think you should wait a bit?” Emma interrupted gently. “I mean, there’s a reason people wait until three months to tell people, isn’t there? Not that I want to put a damper on your excitement or anything.”

I gave her my best condescending smile. “Nothing is going to happen to this baby,” I said, with my hands over my belly.

″I’m sure it won’t but—”

″It won’t. It can’t. I won’t let it. End of story.”

″Okay.” Emma smiled at me. “At least don’t go buying everything right away. There are things called baby showers, you know.”

″Oooh, presents.” If there is anything I love, it’s getting presents. Not that this baby isn’t present enough. Then my stomach gave an uneasy lurch, and I stood up. “But right now I think I have to deal with a throwing-up present. Thanks for breakfast, guys, and I’ll see you later,” I told them as I rushed downstairs.

Later that morning, I was pulling my wet clothes from the washing machine to toss them in the dryer when I discovered someone had forgotten to take his clothes out of the dryer. Cursing under my breath, I started pulling them into my empty basket. I’d done J.B.’s laundry enough times to recognize his boxers and gym shirts. I guessed this was what happened when I stopped doing his laundry for him.

When my clothes were safely tumbling dry, I took the basket with J.B.’s clothes back into my apartment. I was tempted to just go and dump everything onto the floor of his room, but realized at the last moment that it would just be a childish way of expressing my bitterness toward him.

I had to get over my resentment and anger at J.B. After all, he didn’t want to have a baby. This wasn’t planned between the two of us. Sure, it’s what I’d always wanted, but obviously J.B. wasn’t sharing my feelings on the matter, and I knew that all along. And he did try to do the right thing, even though he made a huge cock-up of it. There was really not much I could do. I couldn’t force him to be happy about a baby he didn’t want. What it came down to was that I wanted—I expected—him to be happy about the baby. I thought once he got over the initial fear, some sort of paternal gene would kick in and he’d be happy and excited, like me. I never expected the anger or him coming with his tail between his legs to propose a quick and small wedding only to have his mother hate me. It all came down to the fact that I was disappointed in J.B., and there was no one I could blame for that but me.

But I missed him. I missed him a lot. I missed our friendship and just hanging out with him and even the simple conversations with him. And I missed the flirtation between us and the constant bickering and teasing. He didn’t come down for breakfast again this morning—Cooper said he left early to go bike riding, but I knew he was avoiding me. He didn’t know what to say, and so he was choosing to hide his head in the sand. Childish, sure, but what could I do about it? I wished I didn’t miss him so much.

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