I could melt down again, Jericho tiptoed into the kitchen. “Mom? She’s still sleeping, but I can see the contractions. Should I wake her? What do you think?”
I sighed, again calling upon my birth-coach training for many of the mothers of our church. First labors were always the longest and the worst and Shemika seemed calm so far. “Let her sleep. I think she’s in early labor—”
“Ohhhh.” Shemika’s voice thundered down the hall, sounding more like a moo than anything.
My eyes met with my son’s first and then with his father’s. That sound was one I’d heard before…from my own lips. I bit the inside of my cheek as the memory, the terrible pain, came flooding back. Fifty-six hours of anguish and all of it paled to the hurt of realizing that Jordan hadn’t just gone for a drink of water, that he’d run for his life and would never come back.
“Perhaps I spoke too soon. Put her things in the car,” I said, checking the kitchen clock—11:13 a.m. “We’ll watch the next few for a pattern.” My mind locked as I tried to sound calm instead of screaming like I wanted to. Why had helping strangers have their babies been so much easier than helping bring a piece of me into the world?
“We’ll stay here as long as she’s comfortable. Keep her moving, Jericho. Walking, squatting. I’ve got something for her to eat before we go.”
My son looked scared but strong. “Thanks Mom. I know this has to be hard.”
You have no idea.
Were those pink onesies and blankets still in my trunk? I hadn’t touched them in months. “I’ve got some clothes and things in the car. It’ll be fine.”
“I knew you’d know what to do. I love you, Mom.” My son pecked my cheek, leaving a wet spot on my face.
As he turned away, I blinked back a tear of my own. In all the fighting, I’d forgotten how much I missed hearing that I was loved, being called the name that had defined my very being for so many years.
Mom.
Jordan stood in the kitchen doorway with admiration and confidence in his eyes, the look that had made me fall for him in the first place. A look that said, You amaze me. You can do anything. Nobody had ever talked to me like that back then. Nobody but him. And he really must have believed it, because he left me with everything to do. I turned from him now.
His long legs covered the distance to me with ease. “I know I’ve said sorry a million times, but I have to say it again. I’m sorry.” He choked up a little. “Seeing that girl like this. Remembering—”
“Fuhgetaboutit,” I said, adding a fake laugh for decoration. He would, or course, forget about it, so he might as well do it now. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t have such a luxury. Someday soon, he’d disappear and I’d be stuck again, this time with a grandbaby to take care of. They all assured me otherwise, but I’d been around long enough to know how the story would end. He’d get his fairy tale like everyone else. Everybody but me.
Jordan leaned in closer. “I can’t forget about it. Ever. Even now, marrying Terri…I told her that I don’t know if I want to have children with her. I don’t think it’d be right. Or fair.”
My foot lifted off the floor, but I caught myself before I kicked him.
I’ve really got to try a new workout.
The pan slammed against the burner, a redirection of my anger. I wished I could escape this room, this conversation. One reason I hadn’t been able to deal with this baby, to go to Jordan’s house and even discuss it was because of her—Terri, his girlfriend. I had no reason to care, no claim to him. In truth, he’d tried to get back with me again, but too much had passed between us to make things right. Still, seeing the two of them together was hard. At least he hadn’t brought her along today.
“Have all the babies you want. It doesn’t matter to me.” I jerked away from him, ransacking the cupboards.
Another moan, this time followed by a shriek, sounded in the living room. I checked the kitchen clock—11:22 a.m. The contractions were consistent and getting closer. So much for the soup. A box of my precious Zone bars would have to do.
“You care about me, Chelle. I know you do. Sometimes I even think about calling off the wedding until you can forgive me—”
“I have forgiven you.” Another box of low-carb bars, the ones I’d bought off of a cable shopping network during a bout of insomnia, tumbled down out of the cabinet. I forced the box back into the cabinet and when it refused to stay, I wedged a box of low-carb pancake mix in front of it, wishing I had something to prop myself up with. Why hadn’t I stayed at church and let Tad give me a full pedicure? Someday I’d learn to take my blessings where I could get them.
Jordan continued. “Your head may have forgiven me, but not your heart. If so, you wouldn’t retract whenever I come near you, or look away when I enter a room. The sight of me brings you pain. I know that. If not for Jericho, I wouldn’t have stayed in this town. But I have to stay. You of all people should understand that. I have to make things better for him if I can. You did well with him. Better than I ever could have.”
“But still not good enough, or we wouldn’t be here hoping a baby won’t be born in the next room. I did everything to keep him from turning into you—into us—but it wasn’t enough. He messed up anyway.”
Shocked that I’d actually said that, I grabbed the three Coke cans they’d left on the counter and rinsed them before crushing them in my new Can Killer (another insomnia-induced purchase) and tossing them into the recycle bin. It wasn’t as gratifying as kicking people, but much safer.
“So that was your parenting goal? Keeping Jericho from becoming me? From becoming us?”
I scrubbed the counters as if my life depended on their cleanliness. “Us? That was a bad choice of words. There is no us. There never was. I don’t have your name. I only have your child. That was the only blessing that came out of my sin.”
Jordan’s face sobered. “You make it sound so horrible, like my leaving was God’s punishment to you for being with me.”
I shrugged. What difference did it make? I’d sowed a lot of bad seeds with Jordan and reaped every one. In the midst of it, God had given me more than I could ask for: His love, friends, family, a handsome, intelligent son, a business I loved. The questions didn’t matter anymore. The answer remained the same—Jesus Christ.
“We were young, Chelle. We didn’t know. We didn’t get it.”
“Didn’t we?” I stirred the soup like a madwoman, trying to hide my trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter whether we knew or not, Jordan. God knew. He’s loving, but He’s holy. He couldn’t change that for us.” I leaned forward to listen for Shemika. Nothing. “He can’t change it for them, either. It is what it is—”
Jordan kissed the back of my neck.
Even after so many years, my body melted at his butterfly kiss, reserved for times when words wouldn’t suffice. My womanhood leaped to her feet and sighed in satisfaction. I pushed her back. And him, too.
My heel crunched down on his toes. I was embarrassed and sorry for doing it, but he wasn’t going to toy with me like this. I’d come too far, been through
