Page 42 of Room 1212

“Don’t you dare!” I heard him throw the knife down before he chased after me.

Damn it, why did I have to be so slow? He jogged past me to grab the laundry hamper. “You can’t do everything,” I griped, crossing my arms and resting them on my belly.

“I can try,” he said, his voice echoing inside the washing machine. “You’re not supposed to be doing anything. Doctor’s orders.”

“He said not to do anythingstrenuous. Since when is standing strenuous?”

Feeling sneaky, I tiptoed back toward the kitchen. While he was distracted, I could slip back in and chop the veggies again. I arrived in front of the cutting board, only to see that he’d put the knife at the back of the counter, out of reach for me in my bulbous state.

“Dammit!” Foiled again.

I turned around and shrieked when I found myself face to face with Drew, leaning up against the doorframe watching me with a sly smile. “What’s the matter, love? Lost your way to the couch? Here, let me escort you.”

I groaned in frustration. “Come on, Drew. I’m bored!”

“Well, I could bring you your laptop. You can do some writing.”

“I don’t want to write! My brain is a foggy, mushy mess, and my poor editor is still scrambling to try and make sense of the pages I sent her last week.” I’d admit, I sounded super whiny. I kinda hated the sound of my own voice right now, and knowing the baby was listening made me take a breath and try to center myself. I didn’t want to teach them how to whine even before they were born.

“Here, sit right here,” Drew said, lowering me onto the leather sofa. Then he pulled the lever so that it tilted back and the footrest popped out. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” I grumbled, still struggling not to pout. “Peppermint?”

“Sure thing. Coming right up.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head, then went to get my tea started and finish up dinner.

Pregnancy was harder than I’d been prepared for. The food aversions, followed by the cravings, peeing constantly, the violent mood swings, muscle cramps in my legs in the middle of the night. These were things my own characters had never had to deal with, and I’d actually started to resent them for how easy I’d always made it for them.

Like right now, for example. This couch was beyond squishy, but I couldn’t get comfortable. My hips ached and my back and my… legs and… “Um, Drew?” I called.

He popped his head around the corner. “Tea’s almost ready.”

“No, don’t worry about the tea.” I waved him over.

“Did you want some pickles?” he asked, coming to stand by my side. “Crackers? Carrot sticks? All three at once?”

I shook my head. “I… I think it’s time.”

“Time for what?” he asked lamely.

I looked up at him with an incredulous look, waiting for him to connect the dots. His eyes widened. “Oh! Like,timetime?”

I’d never written a comedy, but I had an impression that if I had, it would’ve looked a lot like this. Drew ran around, trying to get us ready for the hospital, while simultaneously achieving nothing. He brought the bag to the door, only to realize it was empty, so he went back to pack it. But halfway through packing, the timer started going off, so he ran into the kitchen to take our dinner out of the oven. Then he came to help me out of the chair to get ready, only to realize he hadn’t packed the bag, so he stuck me back in the chair.

“Drew? Drew!” I called. “I already packed. The bag is in the car.”

“Right. The car.”

Back and forth, I watched him scramble, his state of mind getting more and more flustered. The contractions had begun to get stronger, squeezing me like an elastic band around my middle, and with each one, Drew would drop whatever he was doing so he could come over and hold my hand, breathing along with me. “Hee, hee, hoo,” he said, guiding me, though I tried telling him that I really didn’t need help yet.

Things only got worse from there. After shoving all the half-made dinner into the fridge, and helping me get my shoes on, we made our way out the door. The walk down the hall to the elevator seemed to increase the intensity of the contractions, and I had to take a break halfway there to let the pain wash over me.

When we stepped off the elevator, the valet saw us coming and went to get my car, but after a long delay, a flustered-looking employee came back. “I’m so sorry, sir, but it seems your car won’t start.”

“Oh, shit,” Drew swore.

“What do you mean it won’t start?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid I’m not a mechanic, but we can get one out here within the hour.”

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