This Is Home (Jack Barakat)

Down

Dr. Vargas might as well be speaking another language.

Because while I hear her in front of me, more so, see her mouth forming words, they make absolutely no sense to me.

Something about sending the kids off to the hospital playroom because she wants to talk to me?

One-on-one.

But that's exactly what makes all of this wrong!

Why would she have to talk to me, at that, alone, when she's just given both my daughter and son a clean bill of health?

That is that Kris is progressing exactly as she should for a five-year-old, even more do, is shaping up to be as tall as her dad.

Likewise, that Sam's freak seizure that occurred two weeks ago was a result of an untreated sinus infection that depleted him of minerals, but that should settle within a month or two with antibiotics and vitamins.

So, that just goes back to my questioning of why's!

Why, does Dr. Vargas want to talk to me alone, when the sole purpose of this appointment has been completed?

Especially when she knows, as I've casually offered as an explanation to the kids' excitement, that we have to go pick up Jack at the airport, so that we can celebrate his return from tour by ea-

"Laura?" the pediatrician's soft-spoken voice interrupts me out of my questioning, to look at her from across the desk in worry, "Is everything all right? Is there something that wasn't clear in what I just asked?"

"It's just," I hesitate, "Dr. Vargas, if, as you said earlier, Kristina and Bassam are fine, then what more did you want to talk to me about?"

"The thing is, she begins, then reveals a bombshell on me, "It's not about them. It's about you."

The revelation has me looking at her utter bewilderment. What in the world is she entailing.

"Me? What about me?"

"I think you might be pregnant."

_________

Despite my protests, both that I am not with child, and that I have someone waiting for me at the airport, my kids stay behind in pediatrics, while I get dragged to obstetrics/gynecology.

Which is where I find sitting across a desk, of which houses a familiar figure, none other than that of Dr. Murphy, she who delivered both of my babies.

And, in today's light, more so, not the doctor I expected to see.

"So, Laura," she catches my attention with a greeting, warm eyes crinkling behind her spectacles, "I just got an emergency referral from Dr. Vargas. She suspects you're pregnant. Is that a possibility?"

As her last two questions echo in my mind, a need, more so, an anger, directed at proving the impossibility of this settles in my bones. Because this situation is exactly that: an impossibility.

"No." I determine in a hasty reply, "Jack's been gone for a month, and we used condoms the last time we were intimate."

"Okay," she acknowledges, "But, my colleague detected pregnancy glow, just as I am now."

No longer angry at the assessment of the situation, but more so bewildered by it, I simply stare at her with my eyebrow furrowed.

"You could tell that?" I question, "Just by giving me a once over?"

"I'm trained to detect it, Laura."

"Okay, I'll give you that," I relent, "But, Dr. Murphy, I can assure you. I don't have pregnancy glow. I'm just really looking forward to my life partner coming home after a month of being away."

"Now," I continue as I tentatively attempt to get up from the plastic chair, the metal slightly scratching the linoleum, "It was nice catching up with you, but I have three hungry mouths to f-

"When was the date of your last period?"

Caught off guard by her next question, I immediately sit up straight in the uncomfortable plastic furniture, my expression rooted in shame.

Namely, because I can't answer. Not out of unwillingness, no, but rather the contrary; a lack of knowledge about the functions of my body.

"Um," I offer lamely, "I've been so busy with the kids lately and the agency being bought off, that I haven't really paid attention. So maybe it came last month, and it was so light, I didn't notice?"

Realizing how nonsensical, I sound in the moment, I don't dare meet her gaze, yet, for all my resistance, it's downright compelling.

Enough, it seems, for me to register the expression she gives me next; soft eyes replaced by a knowing, determined look.

"I'll call Jack to tell him to get a ride to the hospital. You might be here a while."

_____________

The weight of the results of the blood test weighs heavily on my conscience, and now, womb, as I'm finally, after hours of anticipation, let out of Dr. Murphy's officeand into the OB-GYN waiting area.

Where I automatically spot Jack, sitting among his luggage, looking more than worried for my sake,

Which, at the gesture, makes my heart soar.

More so, makes me want to announce this recent development in both our 10-year relationship and family in the only way afforded by this situation.

A hand placed on the curve of where my bump would be, followed by a smile, and ending, with an all-telling greeting.

"Welcome home, Jack. "