Page 16 of Special Delivery
‘Why?’
‘Because this is a routine check-up and checking your stomach is part of the routine.’
Poppy glared at him. He glared back. If this were a staring contest, then Poppy sure as hell was going to beat this douchebag. She didn’t care if she was so tired her eyes felt like sandpaper and … ah, damn it. She’d blinked.
She lay down on the couch. ‘Why are you a midwife anyway?’ she grumbled. ‘Unconventional career choice for a man.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll ignore the inherent sexism in that statement.’
‘Whatever,’ Poppy said. ‘I did a whole semester of gender studies and am fully aware of how that sounded. I meantstatistically speaking, midwifery is an unconventional career choice for a male. I was merely inquiring about your job, the same way you’d ask the person sitting next to you on the bus.’
‘I don’t do small talk, especially on public transport.’
‘I can’t imagine why not,’ snapped Poppy. ‘You’re a gifted conversationalist.’
‘Fine,’ said James. ‘I became a midwife to pick up chicks. That, and I have a messiah complex and felt summoned to bring new life into the world.’
‘If you’re not willing to engage in a civil conversation then I won’t waste my breath on you.’
‘Finally we agree on something.’
He pointed to her stomach and Poppy grudgingly lifted her top, making sure her milk-stained maternity bra remained securely out of view.
James kneeled next to the couch and that cotton and aftershave scent washed over her. She briefly thought of closing her eyes to avoid the awkwardness but just as quickly decided that might imply some kind of erotic pleasure on her part. Instead she stared resolutely at the ceiling, willing herself not to blink. His broad palms gently wrapped around her torso.
‘Your hands are cold,’ she muttered.
James ignored her and moved his fingers carefully along her abdomen, testing pressure points with a subtle massaging motion. Her stomach muscles tightened under his fingertips.
‘Done,’ he said, standing up. ‘Everything feels fine.’
‘Good,’ said Poppy, quickly pulling her top down and hastening to her feet—anything to correct the power imbalance.
‘It’s time to wake up Maeve now,’ said James, walking over to the bassinet where she slept. ‘Will you wake her, or shall I?’
‘I will.’ Poppy strode over and placed her hand self-consciously on the wooden frame. She hoped this body language displayed the correct amount of instinctual maternal devotion. Too much and he’d know she was a fraud; too little and he’d call family services.
She knew Dani had struggled to bond with Nella at first, mystified by her crying and smallness, but Sam’s love for Nella had been instant. Poppy couldn’t deny that her daughter’s skinny alien arms and legs freaked her out, but in her bones she could already feel a fervent connection to Maeve, even though they’d only known each other for four days. They were a duo; each other’s only other. She wasn’t sure if it was love yet, but there was an indivisible bond.
Poppy slid one hand under Maeve’s back and another under her velvety head. Her daughter scowled at being moved and began to cry in her tiny rattling voice. ‘Come on, Maeve,’ Poppy cooed as James moved a collection of mugs to the sink so he could set up the portable scales on the kitchen bench. ‘This is something we’ve gotta do.’
She undid the buttons on Maeve’s onesie as James averted his eyes. She was going as fast as she could but this process was unbearable with an uncooperative baby. Had her fingers always been this fat and useless? She immediately resolved to throw out every onesie unless it had zippers. James seemed to befixated on her fruit bowl—probably judging its barrenness. With a final exhausting effort, she pulled the last tiny button out of its tiny hole and laid her daughter gently on the scales.
‘Three point five,’ James said, scribbling on his clipboard. ‘That’s more than her birth weight.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘No,’ said James. ‘It’s unusual … it’s good.’
Poppy felt a heady rush of pleasure, as though she had received a glowing compliment. It was such a small thing in a week full of big things and, inexplicably, she felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She lifted her daughter to her chest and kissed her soft head. A lump in her throat had emerged from nowhere. These hormones were having a great time running the show.
James seemed to notice the change in energy and looked away, frowning at her messy sink as he gathered up his things. He was probably one of those guys who couldn’t cope with untidiness—or female emotion. Poppy glanced at him, his nervous discomfort a welcome distraction from her own.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Poppy, pointing to his face. She felt compelled to provoke him, she couldn’t help it.
‘Nothing,’ replied James.
‘You’re frowning.’
