Out On a Limb(21)

Doctor Salim calls it morning sickness, as if it doesn’t happen every hour of the damn day. She did say it would most likely stop in the second trimester, and I pray she’s right.

But today’s nausea is not from the tiny baby growing inside me. No, this is the result of a week spent mulling over an imaginary conversation and still not being sure of what to say when Bo arrives. It’s from not knowing how he’ll respond or what my reaction to his response will be.

Granted, my emotions have been extremely up and down—again, to be expected—but this conversation is pit-in-your-stomach, sweating-when-it’s-cold-out scary.

During this past week, I’ve begun attempting to calm myself with a peaceful visualisation entirely from my imagination. Me, on the beach in July. My belly huge, sticking out far past my bikini, and my brightly painted toes pressed into the sand, with a warm breeze blowing my hair off my face. I have both hands on my stomach, feeling the baby kicking up a storm as the seagulls fly overhead and the waves crash ashore.

I think, deep down, I’m reminding myself that either way, it will be okay. I’ll still have me, the beach, and this baby come summertime, even if Bo reacts poorly. Even if he wants nothing to do with us. I’ll still have my peace. I just might have to work a little harder for it.

I thank the barista, taking my London Fog to a small round table tucked away in the most private corner of the café. I sit facing the door and wait for the blond giant to arrive, fighting the urge to flee through the back exit or a bathroom window.

It was a little embarrassing to have to ask Bo to grab coffee, considering the last time we were together, he was getting dressed to leave moments after he’d been inside of me.

I’m sure he was under the same impression I was—that we’d never see or hear from each other again. There would be no follow-up, no dates, certainly no coffee meet-ups on a random Sunday morning two months later. But he agreed to meet me. So that’s a start. Enthusiastically so, actually.

ME: Hey Bo, this is Win. The other pirate from Halloween… I was wondering if you’d be free to grab coffee this weekend?

BO: Win, hey. You didn’t have to follow up your name. I remember you, obviously. And yeah, I’m up for grabbing coffee. Do you know Saints on Cosgrove Ave? Sunday at ten?

The café door chimes, and in walks the unknowing father-to-be. And dammit, he’s even more gorgeous when he’s not dressed as a swashbuckler. He’s got on a long beige sport coat and scarf with a green knitted sweater underneath. Black jeans with matching black boots. His beard is a little longer than it was on Halloween, and his hair is still just as unruly. He waves at me from the doorway as he kicks the snow off his boots, a broad smile overtaking his face. Then he points to the counter, silently asking, do you want anything?

I hold up my mug in response. He throws me a thumbs-up, turning toward the barista to order.

Poor guy has no idea his whole life is about to change.

I realise, suddenly, that I’m the Doctor Salim in this situation. I have to try to remain cool, factual, and compassionate. But shit, I don’t know if I can be. I’m still reeling too. And I’m flustered around him. I’ve run into past hookups accidentally. The city isn’t so big. But I’ve always been able to play it off. This, I certainly can’t play off. There’s nothing cool or casual about this.

Eventually, he makes his way over with a wide-mouthed mug and a plate filled with three different pastries. I grind my teeth, wondering if he’ll wish he’d gotten them to-go.

“I thought we could share these,” Bo says, setting the plate on the table between us. “And, uh, hi,” he chimes warmly, lowering into the seat across from me, unwinding his brown scarf. “This was a pleasant surprise.”

“Hi,” I force out. My voice already has the I’m so sorry lilt to it. “Um, how are you?” I ask.

“I’m okay.” Bo tilts his head and pushes his tongue against the corner of his mouth, eyeing me sceptically.

I can tell I look nervous, so it’s not exactly surprising that he’s already watching me with such concern. My lips are rubbing together against my will, and my eyes are twitching slightly, probably blinking a little too much. Plus, I can’t seem to sit still.

I attempt to force a smile, but I can tell it’s unconvincing when Bo’s eyebrows knit together subtly.

He clears his throat with a fist in front of his mouth and continues. “Work has been busy. Um, it always picks up the closer we get to the holidays. Before we shut down for a little bit. But honestly, er, not much else is going on.” He laughs half-heartedly, studying my expression some more.

“Right,” I agree.

He takes a long sip of his coffee, his eyes darting to my bouncing knee at the side of the table. “Win, are you—”

“I’m pregnant,” I interrupt loudly, all the breath leaving my lungs at the same time the words pass through my lips.

Bo pales instantly. His shoulders fall like he’s forgotten how to support his own weight. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I couldn’t hold that in any longer.”

“You’re…” He swallows, looking at the table between us. He raises his hands from his lap and places both palms flat on the table as he hunches over. “Did you say,” he tilts up to look at me, his eyes wide and unblinking, “that… you’re pregnant?”