About twenty hours earlier, Patrick had been looking over his wife, staring at her as they sat on the couch in their living room. April was huge. He couldn’t believe that such a small person could get so gargantuan. He reached over and put a hand on her belly.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
“Kinda freaked out,” she said. She was breathing hard, sweating. “And pretending not to. How am I doing?”
“You don’t have to pretend. I’ll be fine,” he said, paying close attention to both his hand and the clock. He glanced at the television, basically only out of habit. It was on mute and he didn’t care what was on anyway.
“Not for your sake,” she said gruffly, through gritted teeth. “For the baby’s. For Eric. For Eric’s sake. Eric, Eric, Eric, Eric. Eric. Still like that? Is it too late to change?”
“I don’t think there are official rules or anything.”
“I still really like Mark. Or Maxwell.” She closed her eyes tightly, working hard to endure the pain. “You sure you don’t want a Patrick, Jr.?”
“I’m not calling my son Junior,” he said.
“Fine, fine,” she said, blowing air out of her mouth as slowly as she could. “His name is Eric, anyway. That’s his name, period. Eric Theodore. Eric, Eric, Eric, Eric.”
“You’re babbling,” he said, watching the clock. “You don’t have to talk so much if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s helping, I think,” she said. Then she glanced over at him. “Maybe it was more like five minutes. I don’t know, I thought I was paying attention.” She groaned. “I just want to get it over with. Out, out!”
“Damned spot!”
“Hey, watch it mister,” she said, putting up a finger. She breathed in and said with her outward breath, “We’ve been doing pretty good with the language.”
“It’s just Shakespeare,” he said. “I’m going to let him read Macbeth, and I don’t care what you say.”
“Well, that’s a whole other issue. Don’t make my son a nerd, is all I’m saying.”
He looked at her for a moment. “Nervous?”
She ran her tongue over her teeth, gripped the couch cushion beneath her. “Actually, know what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
She closed her eyes hard again. “Can’t be worse . . .”
He scratched his head. “Than what?”
“Castration Day.”
He groaned, and stood. “Great, just great –”
She smiled, barely. “I made it through that, I can make it through this.”
“You had to bring that up now? Give me a break,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “And it’s Social Castration Day. You forbade me from having non-professional contact with other women, not from having testicles.”
“I like my way better. Has more of a ring to it,” she said, wincing.
“Fine,” he said. He paced, stopped, paced some more. Then he stopped again and looked down at her. “Why would you do that? Why say that now? Don’t you understand how sucky of a father I think I’m going to be? Don’t you know how I’ve laid awake at night, just fretting about how I’m going to let him down, be a horrible example . . . I am going to screw that kid up so bad, you have no idea. You may be fine, but I’m not even the one with a person inside of me and I’m a freaking nervous wreck!”
She groaned again, breathed, and said, “Yeah, I know. You’re a real drama queen.”
He puckered his lips and chose not to comment.
“Look, all I’m saying is I’m thankful we made it through that. I take comfort in that,” she said, clutching her stomach as lightly as she could. “I mean, I was pissed.”
“Yeah, I recall,” he said.
“Really pissed. Like more than I remember being, ever.” She opened her eyes enough to squint at him. “But we made it through. Still married. Still having Eric, here.” She groaned again. “There’s one.”
“Dammit,” he said, looking at the clock. “Longer than two minutes anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, pointed at her. “But don’t change the subject.”
She frowned at him mockingly. “What are you so upset about? You kissed another girl, and you’re the one who’s the victim? Come on. Get over it.”
He put his fists on his hips. “It’s just . . . well, sometimes it sounds like – like you haven’t really forgiven me. And if that’s the case, you should say so. Before we have a child. Because I’m sorry,” he said, and his heart sank. He quieted. “And I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”
She pursed her lips. He waited. “I did,” she said finally. “I forgave you. Really.” She stared into his face for a moment, then shook her head. “That’s not your problem.”
He guffawed. “Oh? What is, then?”
“I don’t know. Just get over it,” she said, tilted her head, and shot him the most plastic smile he’d ever seen on her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but her voice rose suddenly to an “Oh!” and he immediately softened as he watched her breathe. When she recovered she went on, “You’re gonna be a great dad. You are. We both have to get used to being – ugh – responsible for him, but we’ll do it just fine. We’re not drug addicts or anything. You’re not cheating on me. Are you?”
His shoulders sank. “No,” he said.
She nodded once and shut her eyes again. He wanted to say more, because he still didn’t feel good enough, but he didn’t know what else there was to say. All he knew was that he was losing. Or maybe he had already lost. The more he realized winning wasn’t really a possibility, the more annoyed he got.
She winced again. “Contraction,” she muttered.
He snapped out of his reverie to look at the clock again. “Um . . . yeah, that may have been about two minutes.”
“What time is it?” she asked, craning her neck around to see.
“It’s midnight,” he said, and as the reality of what was happening returned to his mind he found his entire mood was suddenly shifting. Though angry and indignant about something just a moment ago, he was rapidly consenting to forget it, whatever it was. It was enough that they had a job to do and they were about to do it.
It was enough.
Patrick clapped his hands once and nodded, feeling the rush of blood his heart was now pumping to his head. “All right, let’s do it,” he proclaimed. “Let’s go.”
April nodded, and reached out to Patrick, who rushed to help her. Once she was up, he grabbed the keys, opened the door and shut off the light.
“Hey,” April said softly. He turned to her. “I’m probably not going to think to say it later, and I guess I should say I love you,” she said, and leaned forward.
Patrick leaned over her belly and kissed her. “Thanks,” he said. Then he looked down, and his face brightened into a smile. “Giddy-up, Eric!” he called, and pulled his wife through the doorway.
Readers!
For those of you who have been with us for the long haul, thanks for reading Striking Out! We hope you have enjoyed Matt Bloom's little comedy.
If you are new to the site, don't worry! The complete novella will remain on this site indefinitely, so you have plenty of time to go through the archive and enjoy the story.
Whether you have already read this story or not, there is much more currently available online and much, much more to come. Just go to readmattbloom.com for free access to:
* The video for "Doug and Jessica", Matt's one-act play as performed by WingSpace Theater Co.
* "The Little-Known Muscle", the story of Matt's exploits in the underground world of weight lifting for world dominance!
* Humor articles including "Top Ten Reasons Not to Be a Restaurant Server" and news satire.
* Updates about new published works by Matt Bloom as they become available.
And more!
Also, don't forget about Striking Out! Coming soon, this site will develop a whole new look as it features original illustrations by Kerry LaPrees. Look for his artwork on strikingout-story.blogspot.com this fall.
Special thanks to Amanda Briggs, Matt's sister and editor.
Thanks to all of you, and happy reading!
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