“We barely have a journey. You’re what, six weeks pregnant?”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t know, am I? I don’t remember what I said.”
“Jesus Christ.” I drag my hand over my face.
“Everything okay over there?” Dave asks. “Need help?”
“We’re good,” I say with a smile, while waving to him. I turn back to Lottie and say, “I think you said you were eight weeks pregnant.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” I answer. “But it feels familiar.”
“You’re the brains of this operation, you’re supposed to catalogue these things,” she hisses at me. “What kind of mom am I going to look like if I can’t even remember how many weeks this little cashew in my belly is?” She pats her flat stomach.
“Then you should’ve remembered what you said.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me for being put on the spot and not remembering. I’ll have you know, I often black out in stressful situations, so . . . good luck with that.”
“Great,” I mutter and then reach for a pillow. The easy camaraderie from the car is quickly evaporating between us. “Maybe avoid the question if asked.”
“You know the teacher is going to ask, everyone asks. Even when they’re not supposed to ask, they ask. It’s a common pregnancy small-talk specialty. ‘Oh, hey, Judy, you’re pregnant, look at that. How many weeks are you?’ ‘Thanks, Carolyn, yeah, this little banana in my belly is thirty-two weeks.’”
“Thirty-two weeks is a banana?”
“I have no freaking clue, Huxley, that was me babbling.”
“Well, for the love of God, don’t babble.”
With a smile on her face, because Ellie is starting to move toward us, Lottie says, “Babbling is what you get for plucking an amateur off the streets.”
“Are you two nervous?” Ellie asks when she reaches us. She places her hand on Lottie’s arm in a comforting way. “I get it. I was nervous our first time too. It can be embarrassing, having to do all of these things in front of people, but I promise, you’re in a safe zone. And starting when you’re only eight weeks pregnant gives you more and more time to be comfortable.” She takes a ball from the ball rack and says, “I’ll bring this over for you two.”
When Ellie is out of earshot, Lottie turns toward me and says, “Thanks to the modern-day Stepford wife, we now know I’m eight weeks pregnant.” She lets out a deep breath. “And what the hell kind of things are we going to have to do in front of people?”
“I don’t know,” I say, eyeing the people in the circle. “Can’t be that bad, right?”
“Deep breath in and . . . deep breath out. That’s it, and when you’re ready, start to lightly pulse into your partner.” Lottie is beneath me, legs spread wide as can be, eyes a dangerous shade of bloodshed as she holds on to her knees and I press my jean-clad crotch against her pussy. “Connecting to that moment of conception will bring you closer and closer to the little seedling growing inside of you. Remember that night, the way you felt. Was it passionate? Was it seductive? What was involved? If you’re currently in the phases of trying to get pregnant, think about connecting with your partner. Eye contact. Always keep eye contact.”
Mouthing to me, Lottie says, “I want to die.”
I mouth back, “Right there with you.”
As we found out quickly, this is a class for everyone, not just people who are pregnant, but those who are trying as well. It’s not Lamaze, per se, it’s about learning to connect with your body and your partner, hence the sexual position I’m currently in.
“Dave, such a beautiful rhythm, and your eye contact with Ellie . . . I can feel your passion building up, your loins stirring as you prepare to give her your seed.”
Lottie bites down on her bottom lip as she attempts to keep it together.
“Such a beautiful image, Dave. Now, Ellie, please, with your head thrown back in passion, there has to be something you’re doing with your hands. Are you caressing your breasts? Reaching for Dave? The more you evolve this moment into the real thing, the more you will open your flower and receive all the love Dave has to give.”
Lottie whispers, “I’m going to throw up.”
Strained, I reply, “Shut the fuck up and look as if you’re enjoying my pulsing.”
“But I’m not. Your pulsing is anything but enjoyable.”