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Before: Super Pregnant


Ashley

The next day while Chris was at work, I packed my suitcase. I methodically put all my favorite things into it, wrapping glass items in newspapers and laying sweaters and dresses that I coudln't fit into and books and a handful of DVDs that I considered worth carrying with me, and I zipped up the suitcase. It was laying on the bed. I reached for the handle to pull it off of the bed, planning to leave, and it slid and hit my foot. "OW!" I wailed. I sat on the floor, clutching my foot and started crying.

I felt so defeated. I was sore all over from the fight the night before, and I had a welt on my back from where one of the plates had hit me. Most of them had hit the wall around me, but one had clipped me enough to leave this big purple bruise with an angry line across where the actual impact had occurred. It was like a violent, one-way game of frisbee.

I rocked myself, my stomach making me feel like a weeble, and realized how utterly alone I was. I couldn't call Nick because Chris would find out, and there was nobody else in my life. In most movies when the girl needs help she goes to her parents but mine were dead. I was alone in the world. My hands shook and I covered my eyes. "How did I get here," I sobbed.

Two years ago at this time I was probably at some club with Nick, probably hooking him up with some random chick, staring at his back the whole night and wishing that he would want to hook up with me. I was drinking beer and I was alone but I wasn't lonely because I spent all my time talking to Nick, and he understood me and he knew what was going on in my life because I could tell him without being afraid that he'd get mad at me or say that was what I got for picking the wrong man.

Because I had.

I ran my hand across my stomach. I loved whatever was growing in there, but at the same time, I blamed it, too. I blamed it because I'd chosen Chris over Nick because of it. I know it's wrong, but I couldn't help it. Every time I saw myself in a mirror and I saw the bump, I thought if you didn't exist I'd be married to Nick. Every time it kicked against my insides I thought are you abusing me, too, from the inside, just like your father?

I looked at my suitcase.

Who the hell was I kidding? I wasn't gonna leave. Chris was right, where the fuck was I going to go? I had nowhere to go.

I used my feet and pushed the suitcase, still packed, under the bed, and I struggled to get up, leaning against the mattress until I was upright.

My phone vibed. It was on the dresser. I walked slowly over to it, my body aching. It was Nick. I knew I shouldn't answer it, that Chris would find out and he'd get pissed and he'd beat the shit out of me for it later, but I weighed the cost in my mind and deemed Nick worth the pain I'd go through. So I answered it.

"Nick!" I said, tears in my eyes, I was just so thankful it was him.

"Hey Ashley," he said. He sounded tired. "Listen I'm headed to the grocery store and I was gonna get some coffee on the way... You wanna get some coffee?"

I paused. "You're in LA?"

"Yeah, I just flew in this morning, and my cupboard's empty so I'm gonna get groceries before I go home, but I'm like a zombie man so I need some coffee before I go..." he laughed, "I was hoping I could see you, I owe you a birthday coffee."

"Yes."

"Awesome. Should I come pick you up?"

I imagined walking to the coffee house alone. "Yes," I said.

"I'll be there in about fifteen," he replied, and he hung up.

If Chris asked later, the call was short enough I could tell him Nick called and I told him not to call again. I had an out. An excuse. I just prayed we could go to coffee and get back before Chris came home. I glanced at the clock. It was noon, Chris wasn't due home until five. I shouldn't have a problem, I thought.

I pulled open the top dresser drawer, got a different pair of sweatpants and a top and waddled to the bathroom to try to make myself look somewhat decent. Once I'd changed, I stared at myself in the mirror as I put my make-up on and all I could hear was Chris's shouts from the night before, telling me I was ugly and looked like shit. I brushed a loose curl of my red hair out of my eyes and puckered my lips to apply my lipstick. I smacked them together.

The buzzer to the apartment door rang and I waddled out to hit it to let Nick up the stairs. I unlocked the door so he could get in, and got my purse from the kitchen counter.

The door opened. "Hey Ashley," he called.

"I'm in the kitchen," I called back.

I was stuffing a granola bar into my purse.

I heard his footsteps as he came around the corner. Then. "Holy shit."

"What?" I turned.

Nick was wide-eyed, staring at my stomach. "You, you're like -- super pregnant. Jesus."

And just like that, I busted into tears.




Nick

I'd been there less than twenty seconds and I'd already broken her. It must be some kind of world record. I panicked. "Oh Jesus I'm sorry," I yelped and I leaped forward to hug her and she flinched, bringing her hands up to block herself. I figured she didn't want me to hug her so I backed away, hands up, "I'm sorry," I said, "Please don't cry."

Ashley was hugely pregnant though, like holy shit was she pregnant. Rochelle had one of those nice neat little pregnant stomachs when she was pregnant and Leigh you could barely tell. Even Leighanne, who we'd once thought was wildly pregnant when she had Baylee hadn't been as big a round as Ashley was. I was reminded of this zebra I saw once a long ass time ago when we went to a zoo and the zebra was pregnant but the rest of it was super skinny so it had like basically a giant baby-zebra-shaped stomach and the rest of it was really narrow and made the stomach look even bigger. Ashley was like that. Her arms and legs and stuff were still small but her stomach and boobs were like... whoa.

"I'm fat and ugly," she sobbed.

"You aren't fat and ugly," I argued, "You're just pregnant is all." She continued crying. I stood there flapping my arms because I didn't know what to do. I hate when girls cry, I feel so awkward, and I wasn't even able to just hug her to make it better because she was married and touching her was crossing a line and I felt helpless and useless and really big and out of place. "Don't cry, please don't cry," I begged.

"I can't help it," she snuffled.

"Then let me hug you at least," I pleaded, "Because I don't know what to do to help."

She moved slowly toward me, like she was afraid of the floor giving out under her or something, and she pressed her face into my chest. I put my arms around her, and she stiffened at first, her muscles all tight and stuff, but as we stood there, she slowly melted against me, relaxing, and finally wrapped her arms around me, too. Her gigantic belly was between us.

After a long moment, she looked up at me. Ashley's face was crumpled, tears coming down it. "Oh Jesus you must think I'm an emotional mess."

I was thinking that, actually, yes, but I said, "No I just think you're pregnant. Maybe tired. Are you tired? You don't look like you slept a lot."

"I didn't," she said.

"Aw," I answered. I puckered out my lower lip and tilted my head.

She looked at me and laughed through her tears. "You look like a dog," she squeaked.

"Well thanks," I laughed. "Just the self esteem boost I needed."

Ashley laughed again. "I missed you," she said.

I looked down at her, and all those feelings I had for her were bubbling, threatening to boil over right at the surface of me. I felt dizzy with them. She smelled so good, though different than before, she must've changed shampoos. My mouth was dry.

"Coffee," I said quietly.

Ashley nodded, and she untangled herself from around me and picked up her purse. She waddled when she walked and I had to bite back the urge to make a comment. I thought it was cute, the way she waddled. But I knew she wouldn't understand that I meant any comment I said about it in a good way, and I didn't want a repeat of the crying. She shouldered her purse and turned back to me. "Sorry," she said, "Me and walking aren't exactly the best of friends right now."

I smiled. "You're fine," I replied.

"Chris says I walk like an old man," Ashley said.

"You walk just fine." Although I had to agree there was a certain old man quality to her waddle now that it was pointed out. "I'd walk like that too if I had a baby in me I guess," I said.

"You'd look funny pregnant," Ashley said.

"Luckily, we'll never know," I answered, "Unless I'm secretly a seahorse or something."

Ashley laughed.

"And I'm pretty sure I ain't a seahorse."

"You don't look like one," she said.

As she walked by, I fell in step behind her. I watched her feet as she shuffled along, and my eye was caught by something red on the floor. I bent down and picked up a ceramic Minnie Mouse bow from the floor. "What's this?" I stood up, inspecting it. Then I realized I recognized it. "Your Minnie mug broke?"

Ashley had turned, too. Her face was red. "Yes," she said, "I dropped it on the floor last night. I'm such a klutz lately. I swear the baby makes me a klutz."

I tossed the ceramic bow into Ashley's trashcan. It clinked against more glass. I glanced inside. There was about fifteen broken plates in there. "Jesus, I'll say you're a klutz. You broke all those?" I pointed at the barrel. "What'd you do? Throw a Greek wedding party?"

Ashley laughed. "I dropped the drying rack."

"That sucks. That must've been a son of a bitch to clean."

She nodded, "It was a son of a bitch all right."