Page 80 of Homestead

I half giggle and half sob, ridiculously touched by the words even though they embarrass me. When I’m nestled against him, I suddenly remember something. “Oh no. Your back! Did you hurt it?”

“Course not. Barely moved except for my arms. I’m pretty proud of myself too for doin’ all that for you without even getting up off my back.”

I dissolve into more giggles, but I don’t have the energy for more conversation. He strokes my hair gently, and soon I’m sound asleep in the crook of his arm.

* * *

It’s not until I wake up feeling queasy again the following morning that it occurs to me that something else might be making me feel sick.

14

I feelsickish every morning for the next week. Once the thought entered my mind, I started counting days backward and realize my period is almost two weeks late.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

Not once have Jimmy and I talked about having a baby. He pulls out before ejaculation every single time we have sex, including during my period, so it’s quite clear to me that he doesn’t want to get me pregnant. I don’t want it either. I haven’t made it even one year into this relationship, and while it’s been working well for both of us, I’m still not at all confident about either my ability to fulfill his expectations or about his feelings and commitment to me.

He’s been good to me. No question about that. And he’s made changes based on the few times I’ve expressed upset or unhappiness. So I’m sure he wants this to work as much as I do.

But that doesn’t mean it will.

Bringing a baby into it—one neither of us were looking for—seems a surefire way to blow up the tenuous foundation we’ve been building.

I keep praying it’s some sort of long-lasting stomach bug and not morning sickness, but every day I wake up queasy, and my period still doesn’t come.

Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t worry about that. For years my period was irregular, either from stress or from limited food. It’s been more consistent since I moved in with Jimmy, but that doesn’t mean it will always be. But still… I keep waiting for cramps that just don’t come.

The churning anxiety becomes my constant companion, and it makes me feel even sicker.

Because I don’t feel good and am so nervous all the time, my instinct is to be prickly with Jimmy. To snap at him when he asks innocent questions about how I’m feeling and why I’m not eating like I used to and to shy away from him in the mornings when I’m nauseated because sometimes the scent of him or the heat of him makes me feel worse.

I know he recognizes it. I know it’s bothering him. His back improved significantly after a few days, and now he’s back to his normal physical condition. But he’s getting quieter and broodier than he’s been since the first month or two after we got together. We go through our normal routines smoothly enough and talk about whatever comes up, but it’s starting to feel different. We have sex every night just as we always have, and it’s not bad or anything. But it’s what I’ve always considered our “basic” sex. The default. He still lets me start by going down on him, but he usually stops me before he comes. Then he’ll fuck me doggie style until I orgasm since that’s the position where’s it’s easiest for me to get there. Then he comes too. The two nights he can’t hold back his climax during the blow job, we don’t have intercourse at all. Instead, he makes me come afterward with his mouth on my breasts and his fingers in my pussy.

Physically, it’s perfectly satisfying. I get the release I need to relax and sleep well, and so does he. But he’s been quiet in bed, grunting when he’s close but not talking me through it like he sometimes does and never kissing me at all.

It’s not his fault. He’s reacting to the change in me. He’s confused and probably annoyed. I’m not acting the way I’m supposed to, and he doesn’t like it. So each day I resolve to do better, to act sweeter, more normal.

To make him happy again.

Not for even a moment do I consider telling him I might be pregnant. It’s not close to a definite thing at this point, and even if I am pregnant, there’s a strong possibility I’ll lose it in the first trimester. It happens to women now even more than it used to, and it’s always been a common occurrence.

The whole situation might resolve itself without Jimmy ever knowing about it, so there’s no reason to throw our relationship into such upheaval for no purpose.

Not yet.

I have no idea what I’ll do if this pregnancy is real and it lasts.

On the Saturday morning a week after it first occurred to me I might be pregnant, I wake up feeling sick again but also resolved to act better, more natural. If I can just push my worries into that dark corner of my mind, maybe I can focus on Jimmy again.

That’s what he wants from me. The sweet, soft, generous, supportive, accommodating partner I’ve always been to him. The one who tries hard to predict his needs. The one who has very few prickles or combative moods. The one who never pushes him away.

I’ve got to be her again or the worst might happen. He’ll not want me anymore. I might end up pregnant and homeless and entirely on my own.

Fueled by new determination, I open my eyes and discover it’s still dark in the room. Jimmy is stretched out under the covers beside me. I sit up, breathing deeply to dispel the nausea. I can’t let it get in my way today. Other things are a lot more important.

Jimmy shifts his head slightly on the pillow. His breath catches. He’s waking up. He nearly always does when I sit up or start to climb out of the bed.

“Y’okay?” he mumbles.

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