Page 51 of Deja New
TWENTY-FIVE
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, Archer.”Physically.
“Maybe we should go see a doctor.”
“It’s just morning sickness.”
“At night!”
“You know it’s called that because for most women, it hits in the morning, right? It doesn’t mean it’s always exclusive to the hours between 12:01 a.m. and 11:59 a.m. and that any deviation from that means you need to live in your OB’s waiting room. You’re actually reading the baby books you keep buying me, right?”
“Something’s up,” he insisted, his face set in stubborn lines. His forehead was so laddered with concern wrinkles, a chipmunk could have climbed it. Easily. Archer’s bad luck that his grim face was one of her favorites. “You’re not sleeping well, you’re having nightmares every night—sometimes twice a night—you’re not keeping much down. And reliving what that shithead did to your mom? ‘He sliced her up like a trout’? Icannot fucking believe she asked you about it! Angela’s ears are gonna be ringing for a while.”
“Yes, I heard you ‘discussing’ your concern with her. As did the rest of the house. And it was unnecessary.”
Archer’s pacing sped up, which Leah hadn’t thought was possible. She prayed he wouldn’t trip; he was going so fast he’d probably get a concussion. “Don’t care. She should have left you alone. I told them, Itoldthem not to bug us—you—about that. You wouldn’t believe the heinous shit I threatened them with if they disobeyed.”
“If it was anything like the heinous shit Angela threatened them with, I think they were properly cowed.”
“No! They were the opposite of cowed! The minute my back was turned they threw off being cowed! I am very angry and confused and thinking too much about cowing!”
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Deep breath.“I sought Angela out, Archer. It’s not what you think.” She squared her shoulders and tried to look firm and uncompromising, which was tricky when you were prone. “Sit down.”
He stopped and stared at her, his eyes so wide she could see the whites all around, like a horse that got a whiff of fire. “Oh, my God.”
“Sit down, please.”
“Oh, fuck. It’s bad, isn’t it? Just tell me.” He whirled and paced faster, scraping his fingers through his hair until it was standing up in shaggy, aggravated spikes. “We’ll figure something out. Whatever it is. Maybe you should go on bed rest? Let’s go see a doc and ask about bed rest. I’m sure you’ll be fine. The baby’s gonna be fine, okay, hon? Don’t worry. Okay? But just tell me. Whatever it is.”
“I will. But first I want you to have a seat.”
“Just tell me!”
She propped herself up on an elbow and glared. “I want you to sit down in this room’s only chair, which is beside the bed, because it will give you proximity to me, which I will find comforting and also because following your pacing is making me feel like vomiting again. Now sit.Down.”
He sat.
She lay back and looked at the ceiling. They’d been there a week, she’d had ample time to stare at it. To think about what to say, and when. Trust Archer to notice but give her time and space to broach the subject.
“We are having a daughter,” she began carefully.
He was already nodding and she was already trying not to roll her eyes. The nod. The patented ArcherNod that said:Everything is fine, you can tell by the way I’m nodding in agreement with you. I wouldn’t do that if things weren’t fine. So nodding is good, nodding is good.The irony? It never calmed her down. “Okay.”
“As far as I can tell, our daughter is perfectly healthy.”
“Okay.” Archer was already fidgeting in the chair, dread and concern fighting for pride of place on his face.
“She’ll probably be beautiful. Not ‘all babies are beautiful’ beautiful.Beautifulbeautiful.”
“Okay.”
“And this baby isn’t tabula rasa.She’s lived before.”
“Okay.”
“The reason I know this is because the baby is my mother.”
