Page 142 of Black Flag

Three weeks of Emmabouncing around with that goddamn wedding planner designing my entire weddingbecause she lost out on her fairytale wedding when she got drunk and marriedAiden in Vegas. I hardly thought this was my fault but I was paying for itregardless. She also insisted on painting my nails, curling my hair every dayand shaving my legs. It was like I was trying out for a beauty contest orsomething.

When she offered to waxmy girly pad, I went apeshit on her and had to say, “Get the fuck away from me.I draw the line there, no touching my girly parts!”

Then there were thethree weeks of Spencer sending me ridiculous texts that just made me want tobomb my phone. He knew Jameson and I were sexually frustrated and insisted onmaking matters worse. I’ll spare you the details but Jameson said he was doingthe same thing to him. We both had to change our phone numbers to get him tostop.

There were three weeksof Nancy knitting about a hundred baby blankets for the ten kids she apparentlythought I was having.

Threeweeks of Jameson being Jameson; hotheaded, then sweet, then back to hotheaded,then arrogant, then incredibly fucking sexy.All of those thingsnever bothered me as much as the incredibly sexy part did. Even found it sexywhen he threw a second chair through a window because the nurses wouldn’t stopwalking in on our frequent make-out sessions. And yes, any moment we werealone, we were kissing and touching like crazed hormone induced teenagers. Itwas frustrating but there was also an intense desire burning between the two ofus. We knew we couldn’t do much more than make out but it also left somethingto be desired when we were alone.

To me, I thought therewas no better way than to forget what happened by picking up where we left off.Normally, someone who’d been through something like this would need therapy orsome shit. Not me, I needed my dirty heathen and ice cream.

There were some upsidesto my stay there. Emma and I had sampled every single flavor of Ben and Jerry’sice cream, compliments of Van and his frequent runs to the store.

I tried to tell himthis wasn’t part of his job but he insisted on helping out. Personally, I thinkit was his attempt to get away from Emma.

Finally though, todaywas the day, me and my little flailing adorable spaz were off on our adventureof the road trip.

My weekly ultrasoundsshowed he was doing great but I was still on bed rest until thirty two weeks. SinceI was only on week twenty one, it was going to be a long eleven weeks. Stitcheswere gone, bruises were healing but I still had my cast on.

The progression of mypre-term labor stopped but I was also required to take medication every daythat I couldn’t even pronounce let alone remember to take.

Checking out seemed totake hours between filling prescriptions andall thenursing staff saying goodbye. Though I became friends with them, I couldn’t sayI would miss being there. The food was horrible.

Jameson couldn’t bethere the day I left since he was racing in Charlotte. He called, and calledagain and then made sure the hospital gave me all my medicines and aftercareinstructions. I had to laugh at how protective he was being.

Our road trip startedin Nashua New Hampshire. By the time we’d reached Albany New York, I was readyto pull out my fucking hair.

Emma was sitting in thefront seat of the black Ford Expedition Jameson rented, her feet on the dashtalking to Van while she painted her toes. I dosed off frequently from being soexhausted but I caught pieces of the conversation.

“You know Van,” Emmasaid conversationally. “afterthis road trip ourperiods are going to sync home skillet!”

Van stared at her inhorror that she just mentioned her period to him and called him home skillet. Ididn’t blame him. She’d been crossing a lot of lines today.

Shifting to getcomfortable, I sent Jameson a text. He’d be getting ready for the race rightabout now and I knew I could offer some good luck.

Are you missing me?

As I expected, heresponded right away.

I am honey. I can’tthink of anything but you right now. And reporters are staring at me!

Same.

You got reportersstaring at you?

No silly. I missyou.

Oh, how are youfeeling?

I’m on a road trip withEmma, how do you think I’m feeling?

Pointtaken.I’m sorry you had to drive.I could almost hear hissigh through his text.

Metoo.

What are youwearing?

Are you sexting me?I laughed.

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