Page 138 of Bar Down, Baby

So do I.

CHAPTER49

MEGAN

“That went well,”I say, shifting uncomfortably in Derek’s incredibly comfortable car.

It’s so much more comfortable than the TriMet bus. He’s met me every day since I got back from Pahrump to run errands. As in, he comes to my house, and then we take the bus from there. He even got his own TriMet card.

The first day it was groceries. He offered to pay for everything the first day and I nearly ended the outing. Since then, I’ve let him pay half on strictly baby-related items. Which has come up since I’ve had to invent errands to run. First it was groceries, then the pharmacy, then the organic lactation store—hey folks, it’s Portland—then the library, the grocery store again, a competing yarn store across the river that Lule is convinced is trying to edge in on her territory… I keep thinking he’ll tell me enough is enough. But each morning, he showed up at nine o’clock, TriMet card in hand.

But today was different. It was my thirty-eight-week appointment. He asked if we could take his car instead of the bus, and when the wind and rain rolled in overnight, I agreed.

“Yeah, it went well,” he says, his hands squeezing the steering wheel as we come down the hill from the hospital. He was as good as his word, picking me up at nine-thirty so we could get to my appointment on time.

The appointment went really well, actually. My blood pressure is lower than it was at my last appointment and these Braxton-Hicks contractions have been actually doing something. I’m currently two centimeters dilated and about fifty percent effaced, which means very little to me, but as soon as the words came out of the doctor’s mouth, Derek’s jaw got tight and his complexion paled. It hasn’t relaxed since.

“Are you okay?” I ask, pressing my lips into a tight line. I can’t decide whether his clear panic is funny or concerning.

He jerks his head to me and frowns. “Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

“Totally?” I suppress the grin.

“Yeah, totally,” he says, turning down Madison toward the Hawthorne bridge.

The baby shifts, kicking my bladder, and I squeeze my legs together.

“Are you okay?” He looks suddenly panicked as if he might have to deliver the baby in his Tesla.

“Yeah,” I say with a little laugh as my belly tightens. “Just should’ve gone to the bathroom before we left.”

“Want me to stop at a coffee shop or something?”

“No, that’s okay,” I say, rubbing my belly through the mild, totally fine contraction.

“Shit,” he says, slowing down as we approach the bridge.

The lights are flashing and the bridge is up, waiting for a boat to pass.

“Seriously?” I moan.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I snap and then laugh a little.

It’s been tense between us today. It’s the first time I’ve been back in his “territory” since I returned. Plus, now that I understand where his stress over the pregnancy is rooted, I can see how anxious he is from the appointment. We’ve created such a tentative little bubble with our nonsense errands over the past week and a half. I think we’re both afraid of saying the wrong thing and bursting it.

“I think there’s a Starbucks around the corner. Or Stumptown Coffee is a few blocks that way?”

“It’s fine,” I say, stretching out a bit to take the weight off my bladder. “By the time we find parking and I convinced the barista to give me the bathroom key, the bridge would be up.”

“I’m not sure about that,” he says, his eyes locking on what looks like a large, tall barge, pushing as slowly as any I’ve ever seen. It’s still pretty far from the bridge and I frown.

“Is that what we’re waiting for?”

“I think so.”

“This is ridiculous.”

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