Hey Baby

Bedrest? This Is Literal Hell

"I don't want to go." I huffed, resting my head against the cold window. "I know how this day will end."

Lincoln made a clicking noise with his tongue, "Didn't you guys have a heart to heart the last time you were there?"

"Yeah, but this is Mom. She's going to have my blood pressure through the roof again before we even leave. She always has some medical fact to shove in my face."

Lincoln remained silent for a while, lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth. Eventually, he said, "Do you think maybe that's why she got such bad post partum depression?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because she was always looking at everything that could go wrong instead of everything that could go right? Just because its science and has happened doesn't mean it will. Dwelling on it will do nothing but stress you out."

I tilted my head a little, surprised by the assumption. "That's an interesting question. Maybe. I just. . . you men don't understand the fear we live with through all of pregnancy either. When I don't feel Belle move for a long time, I start to freak out. It's just. . . it just happens."

He nodded, but doesn't respond. Instead he turns the key in the ignition and stares at the house for a long time.

"I always used to think about what our life would be like, you know? If I had stayed."

I averted my gaze. "Well, you didn't."

He dropped his gaze to his lap, then says, "We better get inside before your mother comes out here and drags us in."

*

Lincoln was emitting an extreme amount of tension the entire ride back to the penthouse. He had nearly snapped on my mom twice at dinner and again just before we left. It was surprising to say in the least. He'd always been so polite to my parents, acted as another child to them. But tonight something in the air had shifted; every disappointed look my mom sent me, he'd shoot her one even more intense. Anytime Mandy brought up how young I was and what I was going to do now, he had an answer before I could even open my mouth. It wasn't until we were back in the penthouse that he finally relaxed.

"You feeling okay?" he asked as soon as he'd kicked his shoes off and fallen into the recliner with a beer.

I nodded, lowering myself slowly onto the couch. "I'm great. I think this kid is sitting on my bladder though, because I can barely move without peeing myself a little."

For the first time all night a smile lights his face. "I'm sorry."

There was something in the air between us. It'd been there for the last few days, even before our conversation in his room the other night, but I felt as though the confession had just intensified whatever it was, he was feeling. He'd been jumping to my defense all night, but had also kept me at arm's length. I knew that this was his attempt at being friendly, at being my best friend again, but it didn't feel right. Because I could still feel the lingering looks, hear the quiet muttering as he fights internally on what to say next.

"Monae was asking me this morning if we were planning on a baby shower." Lincoln broke the silence, staring at the condensation slipping down the side of the beer bottle between his fingers. "I told her I didn't have any idea. Apparently we're not supposed to plan that? It's supposed to be like a surprise for the mother or something?"

"Yeah." I answered quietly. "That's usually how it works. A friend or relative usually throws a huge gathering for the baby."

He stared at me for a few minutes before he finally said, "And? Do you want that?"