Page 42 of Only for Tonight
“Well, then, that would be another conversation I don’t think we are ready for.”
“Ari,” he says my nickname, “it’s going to have to come out eventually.”
“Why don’t we wait until we’re over the three-month thing?”
“What three-month thing?” he asks me and I hear him moving around on his side of the phone.
“Well, you can miscarry at any point before the three-month mark. Usually happens early on or in the tenth week of pregnancy.”
“Who said this?” he snaps out.
“It’s in the baby book I’m reading,” I tell him.
“Does travelling—” he starts to say and then stops. “Travelling, is it safe?”
“I actually looked it up this morning.” I exhale as I turn my chair to look out the windows. “It says there really isn’t anything that can cause me to miscarry if I’m travelling. They say I might get more nauseated, which has now kicked up tenfold.”
“I asked you this morning how you were feeling, and you told me fine.” His voice is soft.
“I was feeling fine, it comes and goes. Usually passes within an hour or so, but today”—I sigh—“it has been the worst.”
“I hate that I’m not there,” he says and I close my eyes. “I’m already not there half the time because of the team travelling, and then when I am home, I want the two of you to be there. I hate that I’m so far away from you.”
“Me too. I got up this morning and I had to make sure both my breasts were still there.” I try and change the morbid conversation about miscarriage. “I thought for sure one would have run away.” He now laughs out.
“How do you do that?” he asks, exhaling.
“What?”
“Make me freak out one second and then completely calm me the next.” His voice is low and rumbly and all I can think about is hugging him.
“It’s a gift,” I try to joke and I know that he’ll just worry. “Do you know how big the baby is right now?”
“No fucking clue. I don’t think I’ve ever been around any pregnant women who I cared about.”
“It’s the size of a raspberry,” I inform him, “that is how small the baby is.” I hold out my own hand and do a small circle. “By next week the size will be double. Also, it looks like a blob.”
“Can you send me the name of the book you are reading? So I can get my own copy.”
“I’ll bring mine with me and we can read it together,” I tell him. “Now you have to go to work and be a superstar and I have to go and eat some more saltines and drink some ginger ale.”
“We’re leaving right after the game. It’ll be late, so I’ll only call you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I reply, a little disappointed, “have a good game.”
“I will. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” I tease him, “I have to check my schedule and see if I can pencil you in.” When he doesn’t say anything, I cave. “Okay, fine, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I agree, but neither of us hangs up. “You going to hang up anytime soon?”
“I really want to hug you right now,” he repeats softly and I blink the lone tear away, “and then maybe make out with you.”
“And cop a feel,” I add in, making him laugh.
“Definitely copping a feel,” he assures me and I hear a knock at his door. “I got to go.”
“Finally,” I sing out the word. “I’ve been trying to get you off the phone for the last five minutes.”
“Book your flight,” he reminds me, “and send me the information.”
