The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(50)
“So Tucker’s really not going back to Texas?”
“Nope. He wants to stay close to the baby.” I grimace. “But his mom…he’s so close with her. I think there are problems there.”
“Oh Lord. You don’t want to mess with a southern boy’s mama,” Carin warns. “I’ve heard endless complaints about grits from Hope.”
I have too. Still, what are my options? “So I should leave Harvard and move to Texas?”
“No. Just eat your grits. Whenever she offers them to you. No matter how sick they make you.”
“That’s morbid.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do about the baby when you’re in class?” she asks as we load the washing machine.
“I don’t know yet. Harvard doesn’t offer day care. I’ll try to find an in-home care provider, I guess.”
Thinking about all these issues is stressing me out, but I don’t want to complain about it too much. Carin and Hope are already feeling guilty about not being able to help out more, but fuck, they have their own lives to worry about.
“What about your grandmother?”
“God. You should’ve seen her face when I asked. She told me she’d already raised one kid—” I point a thumb at my chest, “—that didn’t belong to her, and she wasn’t raising another one.”
“Harsh.”
We move into the kitchen and start in on the baby bottles. “Harsh but true. I can’t dump this load on her.”
“What about Tucker?” Carin shakes out a clean bottle and sets it in the dish rack.
“What about him?”
“He’s the dad. He has to help. You can take him to court and force him to pay you child support.”
My jaw drops. “I’m not going to do that. And he is going to help.” I pause. “As much as I’ll let him.”
Carin makes a disgusted noise. “You’re so stubborn. You don’t have to do this all on your own, B. You make it sound like he’s just along for the ride. What’s going on with the two of you?”
I pick up one of the clean bottles and twist a nipple, trying to imagine myself holding the baby and feeding it with one of these. “He never intended on staying here. He’s just here because of me and the baby, and I feel like I’m ruining his life.”
She scoffs. “He was part of this too. You’re not the Virgin Mary. There was no immaculate conception.”
“I know. But I still could have gotten an abortion.” Honestly, that’s a thought that weighs on me every minute I spend trying to figure out how I’m going to make this all work.
“But you didn’t, so stop looking backward.”
“I know,” I say again.
“You have feelings for him.”
I busy myself with finding a place for the clean bottles and other baby gear. “I like him.”
“You can say the other L word. It won’t kill you.”
Annoyed, I glare at Carin. “Like you’re any better, Miss Commitmentphobe. Since when have you run around telling guys you’ve hooked up with that you love them?”
“Never, but I’m not afraid of it like you are.”
“I’m not afraid of it.” Am I?
She rolls her eyes.
“Whatever. It’s irrelevant, anyway. Tucker’s in this because he’s in love with the baby and that’s good enough for me.”
Carin opens her mouth to rebuke me, but Tucker strolls into the kitchen before she can get a word out. “Ready?” he asks me.
I flick a gaze toward the microwave clock. Crap. It says we have about twenty minutes before class starts.
“Yup. You guys are going to have to leave,” I tell Carin. “Tuck and I are going to a breathing class.”
She raises a brow. “For what?”
“To help her when she’s in labor,” Hope explains as she enters the kitchen with D’Andre on her heels. She comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Call us later, okay?”
“I will. And thanks for helping out today. All of you.”
“No thanks necessary,” Hope says, and Carin and D’Andre nod in agreement. “We’re here for you, B. Now and always.”
Emotion wells up in my throat. I have no idea how I wound up with such amazing friends, but I’m sure as heck not complaining.
*
“You don’t sound too excited about this,” Tucker comments twenty minutes later. He holds the door to the community center open for me.
“And you are?” A yellow sign decorated with balloons greets us. “This process is so hard that I have to learn how to breathe? That’s not normal.”
“You watch any of those YouTube videos?”
“God no. I didn’t want to psych myself out. Did you?”
“A few.”
“And?”
He gives me a thumbs-down. “I don’t recommend them. I’m wondering why we use brass balls to describe someone who’s really strong, because after the second video, my balls tried to climb inside my body. Plus, my YouTube history is officially fucked.”
“Ha. Exactly why I didn’t watch any.” I wag a warning finger at him. “Stay by my head during the birth or you’ll never want to have sex with me again.”
“Naah, I can separate the two.” He drags his hand down my spine to rest it on top of my butt, which, like my boobs, is growing in size. “This ass is made for tapping.”
“So anal is all I’m going to get after childbirth?”
He grins broadly. “Why not both?”
Before I can respond, a curly-haired older lady wearing a rainbow-colored peasant skirt sweeps forward to greet us. “Welcome to Labor of Love workshop! I’m Stacy!”
“John Tucker and Sabrina James.” Tuck introduces us both.
Stacy doesn’t shake his hand. Instead, she makes a prayer gesture. “Please find a mat on the floor.”
“This is going to be too hippy dippy for me,” I murmur as we make our way to the three rows of yoga mats spaced out on the floor. The room is mostly full, but we find an empty mat in the back.
“It’s a lesson on breathing. I think that’s the definition of hippy dippy.” Tucker helps me into a seated position. “Want me to practice giving you injections instead?”
“Maybe?” I’m only half joking. I read that there are complications with medications, and I haven’t decided if I’m going to opt for the epidural.
The lights dim and Stacy moves deeper into the room, hands still folded in prayer.
“I think she knows something we don’t,” Tucker murmurs in my ear. “That’s why she’s praying all the time.”
“She knows that no amount of meditation is ever going to make childbirth pain free.”
The man next to us clears his throat. Tucker chuckles softly, but we both shut up.
In the front of the room, Stacy turns on a projector. The words “Welcome to Labor of Love” appear. And then she proceeds to read off the slide.
“We’re here to help ease you through the labor process. The mainstream media and health organizations feed you an endless supply of fear and paranoia, but the truth is that childbirth does not have to be a painful experience. Today we will start our journey to a joyful and pleasurable labor. These three classes will help you refocus your negative feelings, drawing in serenity and pushing out fear.”
“Are we in a breathing class or signing up for a cult?” Tucker whispers.
Cult. Definitely cult.
“Partners, helpers, move into position behind the mama.”
“I already hate this woman,” I hiss as he crouches behind me.
“Because she called you mama or because she says it’s not a painful experience?”
A man a few mats down raises his hand. “Where should we put our hands?”
“Great question, Mark.”
Oh God, she remembers all our names.
“During labor, the appropriate position will be the lower back, but for today, we’re concentrating on relaxation, so please place your hands on your partner’s shoulders.”
Next to me, one expectant mother is taking copious notes, as if Stacy in the peasant skirt is the oracle of laborhood, speaking the ten commandments of birthing.
“If she says, ‘There’s nothing to fear but fear itself,’ we’re out of here,” I say a little too loudly.
The gunner and her equally serious partner turn around to glare at me. A burble of laughter threatens to escape. Can we get arrested for disturbing the peace in a breathing class?
Stacy waves her hand toward the projection screen. “First we’ll watch a short video of the appropriate breathing pattern, and then we’ll practice.”
The video consists of five minutes of a woman panting, her lips forming different shapes while her partner counts off.
“You think she’s really got a baby in there or is it one of those foam things?” Tucker asks, his hands lightly squeezing my shoulders.
“Foam,” I say instantly. “She’s not even sweating. I sweat just trying to get my shoes on.”
After the video ends, Stacy goes around the room to check on all our breathing positions. “Deeper breaths, Sabrina. John, please rub a little harder. Place your fingers closer to her neck. Her neck needs more attention.”