Page 53 of Nine Month Contract
The tech looks at me, and I feel a surge of anxiety. For someone who constantly stresses about the future, how had this thought escaped me? How have I not even wondered what sex of a baby I’m having? Surely I need to figure out the baby room before the baby is here. Pink? Blue? Maybe green so the baby can decide what color it likes. Or go gender-neutral with yellow and then be surprised? Can I really wait that long?
Trista appears to be waiting for my answer too, so I mumble, “I’ll, um…need to give that some more thought.”
The tech winks at me, and my mind races through the follow-up appointment with the OB. So much has changed in the past few months. A new person living on the mountain, a new future to look forward to—a totally different future. I’m going to need to get a baby room ready. I’m going to have to figure out paternity leave and childcare. Maybe start researching schools and shit.
Jesus Christ, I’m really doing this. I’m actually going to be a dad.
There’s not a lot I’ve accomplished in life to be proud of. In fact, Calder and Luke and I have fucked up more times than we care to talk about this past decade. It was always a source of stress for my dad because we didn’t care about the family business. All we cared about was mountain life and fucking our way through half of Denver. I hate that it took him dying for me to finally get my shit together.
But this…this feels right. It feels important. This feels like something my dad would be proud of.
I just wish he was here to see it.
“For the love of God, am I going to have to buy new bras?” I exclaim as I sit across from Wyatt at the Mercantile and glance down at my quad-boob situation. After we met with the OB-GYN, he asked if Iwanted to have dinner, and since I was too tired to cook, it sounded like a great idea to do with my new friend.
But my bra situation is very unfortunate, especially with this tighter top I chose to wear today. With a heavy sigh, I tug at the top of my bra to try to get my girls back in their jail cells. I used to be a solid D-cup, but whatever is happening to my chesticles now is most definitely not fitting in my D-cup bras. I hold my hand to the side of my mouth and use my best flight attendant voice as I add, “Ladies, please return to your assigned seats.”
I smile and glance up at Wyatt, expecting to get a chuckle out of him, but all he does is grab his glass of beer and take a long chug, downing half of it in one go. Lame friend.
He turns his scowl to the patrons watching us curiously. They’ve been staring ever since we walked in and ordered our food. It felt like one of those record-scratching moments when the city slicker walks into a biker bar. Jamestown sure is an interesting place. I haven’t really gotten to see much of it with my crazy work schedule, unfortunately. And the last time I stepped into the Mercantile was my first meeting with Wyatt, which feels like a lifetime ago now.
I lean forward to murmur under my breath, “Why does it feel like everyone is watching us?”
“Probably because you just talked to your breasts,” Wyatt deadpans.
I glare over at him and state the obvious. “They’ve been staring at us long before my titty talk. I just decided to give ’em a little show.”
Wyatt scowls as he lazily surveys the crowd, shooting daggers at anyone who doesn’t immediately look away. “I suppose they’re not used to seeing me with a woman.”
“Huh?”
His lips purse together as he rests his elbows on the table. “I don’t date, really, so seeing you here with me not once but twice is probably why everyone is rubbernecking. Just ignore them. Our situation is none of their business.”
Wyatt’s eyes glance down at my belly, and I can’t help but notice a tiny glint to his gaze that wasn’t there before our appointment today. I think the grumpy mountain man might actually be happy today. Andhe should be. Today was a big milestone for us both. All the baby books say that once you’re out of the first trimester, the morning sickness subsides, and the risk of miscarriage goes down a lot, so this is getting real now. And I have the peek-a-boobs to prove it.
Aside from the shitty morning sickness, I feel like I’m doing pretty good at this pregnancy stuff so far. I’m keeping my mind detached from the emotions of it and focusing on being the cow. And that stupid bed Wyatt bought me gives me the best sleep of my life. I swear it was crafted out of the foreskin of newborn babies it’s so comfortable. Not that foreskin is comfortable. I wouldn’t know, I guess. But I venture to bet it’s soft. Adult penis skin is crazy soft. At least what I remember of it. It’s been a while since I’ve touched a penis.Boy, this analogy is really getting away from me.
“Here you guys go,” the female bartender says, forcing me to tear my eyes off the happy mountain man as she places two plates of food in front of us.
“Thanks, Judy,” Wyatt says, ready to tuck into the hot roast beef he ordered.
“I’m Trista.” I offer my hand to introduce myself. If people are going to stare, they might as well know who they’re staring at.
“The one with the puppy from a few months back, right?” Judy asks as she shakes my hand. “Whatever happened to that sweetheart?”
“She was adopted!”
“Oh, that makes me really happy.” Judy’s eyes dart from me to Wyatt and back to me. “So are you the one who…” She gestures back and forth between us with a knowing look.
“Just friends,” Wyatt harrumphs as he shoves a forkful of beef into his mouth.
“And neighbors,” I add with a much warmer smile than Wyatt offers. “I’m living in the apartment above the barn on his property.”
“Oh, you’re living up there?” Judy’s eyes are saucers as she glances back at Wyatt. “I’d heard some rumblings around town about someone else driving up there a lot. How are you handling those crazy Fletcher boys?”
I cover a laugh. “I really only see this crazy one. He keeps me pretty well hidden, I guess.”
Wyatt grunts in response to that.
