Page 33 of Because of Them

I lean across the armrest to nudge my shoulder against hers and nod towards the two kids playing in the corner. The smallest bites a book made of thick cardboard while the other runs in circles, holding a small plastic ambulance. It’s seen better days, that ambulance, but the kid waves it around all the same screaming “nee naw nee naw.” The brightness of the toys andbooks is a stark contrast to the rows of pale grey chairs and the dirty white walls.

“Didtheyget invited to Maisie’s graduation party?”

Audrey tugs at her ear. Her shoulders round down as she folds into herself like she might be able to hide from the noise. With delicate fingers, she peels the banana, taking a bite and chewing slowly.

“It was weeks ago. Will you please drop it?”

I would. I should, probably. But there is something about the hint of guilt that flashes across Audrey’s face every time I bring it up. The way she smiles to herself when she thinks I’m no longer watching. If I took a guess, I’d say she feels bad about it now, but there is some part of her that is happy about it. Not the fact she didn’t invite me, but the fact I care.

She didn’t think I would be interested, and I don’t blame her for that. But I would have gone. Less for Maisie and more for Audrey. So that she knows I’m ready to show up for every milestone, big and small. Not just for the baby we share but for the family we are about to become. Even though she might not see us as a family yet.

Today though, the guilt is replaced by something that looks like a mild annoyance. Her gaze flips up to meet mine before dropping back to her lap.

“Audrey?”

I hesitate, my hand lingering over hers before I let it drop. She flinches at the touch, but doesn’t pull away as I lace our fingers together.

“I’m sorry, okay. I’ll stop bringing it up.” And I’ll add the fact that I kept bringing it up to the list of things I keep getting wrong here.

From behind the desk, a nurse calls out a name. A mother scoops up the youngest child, prying the book away and dropping it on the floor. Audrey watches as they walk past, themother hobbling, belly swollen and with a toddler on her hip. She uses the arm rests of the empty chairs for balance as she goes.

“Thank you for coming,” Audrey says, long after the woman has passed. “I’m glad I don’t have to be alone again.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at the last one. I mean, I get why you hadn’t told me then. I’m sorry you felt that you couldn’t.” I’ll be sorry that my actions made her feel that way for the rest of my life. I’ll try to make it up to her every single day.

She leans her head down against the crook of my neck and I squeeze her hand.

“What if the baby—”

“Shh,” I silence her worries. Truthfully, I’m worried too. But I know for the most part, we shouldn’t be. We have nothing to worry about. All Audrey’s check-ups have been fine. The baby’s heartbeat has been steady at every appointment. Her stomach is growing—beautifully I might add—the perfect amount. Her other symptoms are easing.

“I just hope everything is okay.”

“It will be.”

The child in the corner finally quits the “nee naw-ing” and silence falls across the waiting room. The sound of doors opening and closing echoes down the corridor, and the receptionist taps away at her computer. Up on the wall, a mid-morning talk show plays on the TV; volume down, delayed captions on. I try to watch, but the delay makes the show impossible to follow. It looks like they are about to start baking, but the captions discuss a surfboarding dog.

Audrey keeps her head on my shoulder, her breaths deep and forced. The longer we wait, the more worried she becomes, wriggling her ankle again as she chews at her nails.

“Audrey Wilson?” A petite lady steps into the waiting room. Her floral, frilly top is so bright I have to squint my eyes. Not at all the pale blue scrubs all the nurses are wearing.

“Fuck.” Audrey reaches beside her to grab her bag and I help her stand. We follow the lady in the bright top down the corridor, around a bend, and into a darkened room. Somehow, her shirt still shines fluorescent pink in the dim lighting.

“Before we start, I need to change my surname on the file,” Audrey announces as she sits on the reclined chair in the centre of the room.

The ultrasound technician clicks away at her computer, not turning to face Audrey when she answers. “I can’t do that here, but from what I can see Wilson is the surname on your Medicare card? The file has to match so that we can bulk bill the appointments.”

Audrey’s face drops. She closes her eyes to contemplate before reaching into her bag and pulling out a pen. On the back of her hand she scrawls the word ‘Wilson’.

“It’s Callum’s surname. You need to remind me to change it back to Baker. I keep forgetting.”

I want to tell her it’s not worth changing back to her maiden name when she could take mine instead.

I’ve never cared much for the name Bird, hated all the dumb nicknames that came with it at school. But all of a sudden, I wouldn’t mind it on her and I’m starting to think of all the ways I could make that happen. Which scares me, thrills me, and has me wringing my hands together. This is not what Audrey needs right now. I’ve gone from ten to three thousand in the space of two minutes all because we started talking about her last name. But then, maybe that is what she needs, so she knows I mean it when I say I’ll stick around. I can’t get caught up about it now though, so I squeeze the thoughts back down as I sit in the chair next to Audrey’s recliner.

“I’ll remind you.”

I suck in more air than my lungs should be able to handle. Push my shoulders back further than they should rest. Ignore the way my skin tingles where Audrey’s hand rests against my forearm. Fun, she said. I might be the father of her baby, but I’m nothing more than a casual fling to Audrey. I didn’t even get an invite to her daughter’s kindergarten graduation, and I’d do well to remember that. After too long in silence, Audrey squeezes my arm before pulling her hand back to lift her top.

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