Not So Nice Guy
Page 44

She jostles my arm. “Ian, you there?”
She waves her hand in front of my face, and reality snaps back into place like a rubber band. I turn to her, dopey smile and all.
“What the hell are we waiting for?!”
She beams and we simultaneously turn to yank on our door handles.
Inside the pharmacy, Sam drags her arm across the shelf in a dramatic flourish. Our small basket is filled to the brim. We buy one of each brand, which is overkill, but there’s no point in trying to talk her out of it.
“Because the people in the movies do it! Maybe they’re onto something!”
When we check out, the clerk doesn’t say a word, though she must sense the nervous energy pluming off of Sam because she gives her a small smile as she loads the pregnancy tests into two bags.
This is what we want. We’ve talked about it. I’ll be 32 in a month. Sam turned 28 a few weeks back. We have a lot of savings built up. I’ve already looked at the best options for college funds. We’re prepared, but it still feels like we’re two teenagers up to no good.
“Hurry, hurry,” Sam says as we finish the drive home. “I’ve been holding it since before dinner because I want to have enough urine for all these tests.”
“In my professional chemist opinion, you’ll need at least a gallon of urine.”
“You’re joking, but I actually have it!”
The bags are hefty and loaded down. When I pull into the driveway, Sam hops out of the car and makes a dash for the door. She runs straight for the master bathroom and I follow.
“Should we read the instructions?” I ask, frowning as Sam starts tearing open boxes like a hungry bear who’s just stumbled upon a picnic in the woods. “Make sure you’re peeing on the right parts?”
“I know the right parts, Ian. Movie people, remember?”
Still, I insist. Each test demands slightly different preparations. Some demand you pee directly on the applicator. Some want you to dip the end of the test stick in a small cup of urine. Some provide a line. Some spell out POS or NEG. Sam hops back and forth on her feet, clutching her crotch as if she’s trying to physically hold the pee inside herself.
“Hurry!”
“Okay, here. This one first.”
She pees on it and I pass her another. Then another. We have twelve lined up before she’s completely emptied her bladder.
“Damn,” I say, hands on hips, assessing our lineup.
She washes her hands with a smug smile. “What do you think, science man? Is that enough data for you?”
I smile and nod before stepping back and sliding down to the ground. The excitement of the last half-hour is starting to take its toll.
Sam stays standing, hands on her hips as she studies the tests. “How long do we have to wait?”
“The first one will be ready in five minutes.”
Saying it aloud makes my stomach drop. She turns back to me and I see she’s shaking now, her eyes filling up with tears. “What if it’s positive?”
I tilt my head and assess her. “We’ll be excited.”
“And if it’s negative?”
“We’ll probably be relieved, but we’ll also keep trying.”
“Maybe your mom is a psychic. You haven’t told her we’ve been trying, have you?”
“No. That was all her.”
“She said I was glowing.”
I smile. “You are.”
“How long has it been?”
I glance down at the timer on my phone. “Thirty seconds.”
“Oh god. I feel sick.”
“Good sick or bad sick?”
“I don’t know. I want this, but all of sudden I feel like we’re in over our heads. It’s the same feeling I had when you asked me to marry you.”
I understand what she means. We’d be naïve to think this isn’t a huge step. Our lives are about to change forever.
“Come sit by me.”
I bend my knees so she can fit in the space between my legs. She turns, sits, and leans her back against my chest. My heart thumps against her shoulder blade. My hand wraps around her wrist and I feel her pulse, counting the beats in my head—faster than a hummingbird. I wrap my other hand around her stomach and press there, waiting, expecting. I know it’d be too early to feel anything, but I want to feel something.
“Ian? Do you remember when I dressed up as Hermione for Halloween and you told me I looked like a dweeb?”
I smile and lean my head back against the wall. “Yeah, I tried to kiss you that night.”
“What?!”
“Over by the punch bowl, but it was too late. You’d had like four shots and you threw up on me.”
“Oh my god. I remember feeling sick, but I don’t remember you trying to kiss me.”
I glance down and see there are two minutes left on the timer.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t all that smooth. You used to make me nervous.”
She laughs like that’s completely preposterous.
“I wonder how different everything would have been if you’d actually kissed me.”
Completely, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
“This is crazy,” she murmurs to herself.
Another minute passes and now there are only seconds before that first test is ready. Sam looks down at the time and her pulse punches through her skin.
“Do you want to look together?” she asks.
“You do it.”
I’m not sure I can stand at the moment.
Time slows to a crawl as she pushes up and walks over to read the test. Things flash through my mind: nursery paint colors, daycare, diapers, pudgy fingers and toes.
It’s a simple, old-school test with two lines for positive and one for negative.
It should take her one second to read it.
The timer starts to beep.
Sam looks down, grabs the test, whirls around, and screams.
Epilogue
S A M
TWO YEARS LATER
“Mr. President,” I say, nodding in deference as Ian hands me the popcorn.
“Madam Secretary,” he responds, equally sincere.
“Ahem, the Speaker of the House needs a refill.”
“Wah-wah-wah-wah.”
We both look down at Violet, who’s pulling up to stand on the edge of the couch. Her chubby-cheeked grin tears straight through my heart.
“Ian, can you believe we’re raising such a genius?”
“Not even a year and a half and she’s already speaking in full sentences.”
In response, she mumbles, “Ma ma ma dog dog.”
Obviously, she’s speaking in some advanced code. Any robot would be able to decipher her speech and come up with solutions to the world’s major crises.
Then she burps and gets distracted by a piece of lint on the floor.
“So wise.” I nod, taking the glass of wine he’s holding out for me before he turns to grab Violet’s cup. “Are you thinking Columbia, Princeton, or Harvard?”
Ian shrugs. “She’ll have her pick of the Ivies, but who knows, she might just join the Peace Corps—or a traveling circus troupe.”
“Let’s not talk about it. It makes me sad.”
“That she’s going to join the circus? I really doubt that’ll happen.”
I reach down and pick her up. All I want is one decent cuddle, but she’s at the age where she wants freedom, room to roam. She wiggles free and goes back to playing on the floor. “It’s just…I don’t like thinking about her growing up. She’s too little to join the circus.”
Ian takes a seat beside me on the couch and tugs me close. I nuzzle into his chest and close my eyes. I can hear the deep breath filling my lungs, my husband’s steady heartbeat, my daughter’s playful babble—all the sounds of a life I couldn’t have dreamed of just a few years ago, mostly because I was busy dreaming about Lieutenant Ian banging me in an army barracks.
“I feel like you’re really homing in on the circus thing.”
I ignore him. “Today she’s babbling at our feet, tomorrow she’s swinging from trapeze bars, traveling the country in a train car.”
“Again, probably not going to happen.”