Page 117 of The Hot Shot
Smiling wide, I give her a swift kiss. “Okay, but let’s give this guest bed a nice send-off first.”
She yelps as I wrap my arms under her butt and lift her high. We make it to the bed, but just barely.
“I think we should change the mattress before you invite your parents for a visit,” Chess says as she hangs up a black dress. “Doesn’t feel right, imagining them sleeping on it after what we just did in there.”
I snicker and put down a hamper filled with her clothes. “I don’t know, I kind of want to put up a commemorative plaque. ‘On this site, Finnegan Mannus gave Chester Copper five orgasms and reduced her to tears of pleasure.’”
“I believe you were the one tearing up.”
“It was an emotional moment.”
She takes the basket from me. “Which drawers can I take?”
The closet is a large square with shelving on two walls, hanging racks on the other two, and a massive waist-high dresser in the center.
“I’ve filled up the left side of the closet. Why don’t you take the right? Let me just clear out some old stuff from this drawer.”
“Sounds good.”
From a top drawer, I start taking out a mess of old ticket stubs and college game day programs—nostalgic shit I can’t seem to get rid of—and set them on the top of the dresser. “I’m thinking we should probably put a mirror in here. You know the kind that women use to put on earrings and shit? My mom has one in her closet—”
Chess makes a soft sound, and I glance back. She isn’t even looking at me. Her eyes are on the dresser top, her skin pale and her expression haunted.
It takes me a second to figure out what she’s looking at, but when I do, my heart gives a painful lurch. Scattered among the papers is a sonogram with the wordPeanutscrawled across the top in vivid red pen.
The air in the room goes thin. I can hear my heart pounding, like it’s trying to break free. But I can’t move.
Chess’s hand slips into mine. “Finn.”
My fingers convulse, gripping hers tight.
With her free hand, Chess reaches out, her fingers just dancing at the edges of the picture. “Can I?” she whispers to me.
Dully, I nod.
She handles the flimsy piece of paper as if it was precious glass, bringing it closer to look at the image. A shiver goes through me. I don’t want to touch it. But I can’t look away.
“I forgot I put it there,” I whisper—to Chess or to my baby’s image, I don’t know. I’d tossed it so carelessly into a draw to sit in the dark. With a shaking hand, I take the picture from Chess.
It’s an old-fashioned sonogram that only shows an outline, not the more modern, high-tech version that renders a perfect image. “Britt was superstitious about seeing the baby’s face before she was born,” I tell Chess with a voice that sounds like chunky gravel. “Said some things should be a surprise.”
“Honey...” Chess rests her cheek against my arm.
“I don’t even know if I regret that decision or not.”
Chess wraps an arm around my waist and hugs herself against my side. I turn into her warmth and take a deep breath. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “I am. I just get sad sometimes.”
“I know,” she says, stroking my stomach. My thumb touches the little image.
Chess speaks again in a low, hesitant tone. “I could frame it for you, if you’d like.”
For a long moment, I stare down at my baby girl. “No.” I clear my throat. “I don’t think I can manage that... But she needs a safer spot to rest.”
“Of course.”
I take another deep breath and gently place the sonogram on top of the dresser, away from all the mess, before turning back to Chess and wrapping her in my arms. She hugs me tight.
“I feel bad for Britt,” I mumble into Chess’s hair. “But I’m sorry if it got too intense when she showed up.”
