CINDY
When I woke up this morning, my first thought wasn't that I'd end up in the hospital today to watch my mother push an eight inch monster out of her vagina.
But I guess my life has been eventful enough lately. It's only natural that my little sister decided to come just a month after everything that happened. Good for her, though. Being productive before she's even come up for air. Cute. Original, even.
Mom and Dad are leaving Baby unnamed until they figure out what suits her. That's what they did with us, so for now the baby is just Baby.
Speaking of babies, I just realized that while my little sister is five minutes old, her soon to be niece is three to four months into development.
God, now I want to put Ms. Unnamed Until Further Notice back inside my mom. That's just weird. They'll probably be in the same grade. Ew.
Ew, ew, ew.
"What do you think about Clara?" Dad suggests to my mom.
She shakes her head, smoothing her hand over Baby's head.
"No. We already have two C's. Cole and Cindy. Clara would be too much."
"With a K, then? Or another D."
My mom looks at my dad like she wants to murder him.
"Why do you say that like a statement? 'Another D'—yeah, right. And shut up with that Clara, K-Lara bullshit."
All of us siblings share a knowing look. It's the look we all get when Mom's rare attitude comes into play. I think even Baby side-eyes us.
"Birthing makes you grumpy." Dad says teasingly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She rolls her eyes. "My vagina just got ripped in half for the fourth time. Excuse me if I'm not being the kindest, love."
"Fine. I'll leave you alone. You did too good to be punished."
"Thank God." That comes from multiple of us. Yes, even Baby mumbles. Ha.
This amount of people in one room is starting to give me a migraine. Dahlian being the mature man that he is and trying to give me a wet willy isn't helping either, so I tell everyone that I'm heading into the hall.
For some reason, nausea hits me hard. I place my hand on my stomach and hunch over, debating whether or not I should start beating my kid now or later. Kidding, but jeez. This thing might as well be trying to work it's way up my insides or something.
I groan before standing up straight. Attracting attention is the last thing I want, so I head to sit down in the waiting room.
It's not a huge area, so I expect a bunch of family and friends belonging to random people to be there. But there are only about two other people in here.
Some guy is rubbing his hand up and down his calf. Then, the woman on the opposite side of the room is crying into her phone.
Strangers crying makes me uncomfortable, so I take a seat across from the guy with the hurt leg.
I lean my head back, shutting my eyes.
I've already become one of those soon-to-be moms that touch their stomach for comfort. Even though I'm pretty sure the little demon is the cause of my sudden sickness, I keep my hand where it is.
"Well, that's a development."
With a frown, I open one eye to look at who has just disrupted my peace.
And now I'm actually going to vomit. Chances are it will be on him, too.
"Hi, Levin." I groan, shutting my eyes again.
"How far along?"
None of your business. "Eighteen weeks."
"Wow. Do you know if it's a boy or girl yet?"
Also none of your business. "I'm finding out later this week, hopefully."
He clears his throat. "Did you know you were pregnant when—"
Something sour and thick makes its way up my throat, and I lean over the side of the chair and vomit right into the trash can.
In an instant, Levin is at my side, collecting my hair in a single hand.
Holy crap does he smell good. I know I was just cold, but he's so close that he's making that go away.
A weird feeling blooms in my stomach, my chest a little heavy. And I know that feeling. I know it too well.
Okay. No. No, no, no.
Don't think about being attracted to him while he watches you vomit.
Be normal, Cindy. Be cool... For once, be cool.
Also, we don't know each other. It's weird. It's not like we're even friendly enough that he can laugh at the fact I just got sick.
He pats my back a couple times, asking if I'm all right. I stay quiet, because no. No, I'm not okay. Not when he's making me feel warm and nervous and... ugh.
I try to shrug the hand he's got on my shoulder away, but he doesn't let up.
"You have a hair tie?"
Throwing up has left me fatigued, so I hold up my purse for him to look for one.
It's stupid. I should know better. He's a strange man I know nothing about, yet I'm handing him my purse like it's no big deal. Like we're friends, and we're not because I'm not cool enough to know people in his world.
Well, I was friends with Tommy for a while, but that doesn't count.
"You sure?"
"You're asking me like I'm giving it up to you. Just find me one."
He snorts, and the "fight" ends there. It takes him a second of rummaging to find one, but when he does, he ties my hair with the kind of neatness only someone with sisters can accomplish. Unless he's a hair stylist on the side.
Levin grabs me a tissue to wipe my mouth with, and I take it. Vigorously scrubbing at my mouth isn't going to help with anything, but I scrub until my lips tingle.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Morning sickness at it's finest."
I almost shudder.
This is the second time today. Even though Google says that by eighteen weeks, it should start letting up, it's been equally as bad since the first time I got sick. Then, according to Mom, all the women in our family have a history of morning sickness from the beginning of their pregnancies to nearly the end.
I'm hoping now more than ever that I've got some of my Dad's good genes.
"Not the... puke. You have scratches all over your arms."
Ah.
Now, I'm one of the luckier ones. All of my scars on my wrists from the worst stage of my adolescence have healed. He has me doubting that for a second.
I look at my arms, and I'm instantly reminded of Bow. The demon dog.
"Yeah," I snort. "I'm prone to dog bites."
"Those are scratches."
"Yeah, well, those too."
He narrows his eyes at me like he has all the right to know the source of my (very minor) injuries.
"Are you sure?"
I narrow my eyes right back, confused as to why he cares. "...Am I sure that my dog attacks me? Why, yes."
He's not actually my dog, but when your dog attacks you, it sounds like more potential for plot, right? Am I stupid for that? Eh.
"Why would you let your dog attack you?"
I roll my eyes as if he should know the context behind this whole thing.
"He didn't actually attack me, and he's not even really my dog. Bow belongs to my parents. I just happen to spend a lot of my time with them, and in turn the four-legged ankle biter."
He sits in the chair next to me, all his attention on me.
My first instinct is to tell him to mind his business because the last time we were seen together, it made the news. But now I'm not with Tommy, and when I was, I had already given up most of my privacy. Long story short: I have nothing to lose by interacting with this man anymore.
Not that I've ever exactly been keen on interacting with him. He can be a little... You know, the trailing off says enough, I think.
"Have they trained him?"
"Yeah. He just doesn't get the memo that I'm not up for grabs, I guess. Every time I walk into my parent's house, he runs straight for me." I tell him, thinking back to all the times I found refuge on the couch or on top of the kitchen counter—two places he can very easily get to, by the way.
Levin shrugs. "Oh. He must just like you then."
I grimace. "He could do with liking me a little less. I'm allergic to dogs."
"If you spend so much time near him then why don't you get something for your allergies."
That has been a question I've been faced with for many years now. Do I have an answer to it? Yes. Well, not really. But kind of?
"It's just that I don't want to."
His lips quirk up. "You hate dogs."
I make a weird nose that's too close to a whimper to ignore. My face is in my hands in second.
It's a deep dark secret of mine, and only he knows it.
He makes a show of letting his jaw drop. "You hate dogs?!"
I shush him.
The woman in the chair in the corner looks up at us, her brows furrowed. I let my head lower.
While I do believe I don't have much to lose, this is still nerve-racking. Doesn't he have something to lose? Maybe something he isn't thinking about?
I lean into him a little closer.
"You're not worried people are going to see us? I don't think it's a secret that what happened at the library went more places than I ever will."
He watches me for a long second. Such a long second. Long enough to make my arms tingle, and my stomach churn.
Leaning in close like I had just a moment before, he whispers:
"What if I want us to be seen together?"
Huh? Is this man really flirting with a pregnant woman? The fuck.
I pull away to look at him, eyes narrowed. "What if I was married, you prick?"
He grins. "Didn't see a ring."
"Oh, yuck."
"I'm kidding." He assures me, chuckling. "And trust me. I decided I wanted to do a relationship once, and... things did not go well."
I slump in my seat, blowing hair out of my face.
"Fucking tell me about it. I found out I was pregnant, and then I broke up with my fiancé."
That has him swiveling around in his seat to look at me.
"No shit."
"Yes. Lots of shit."
He shakes his head at me, trying not to laugh.
Wow. Pregnancy also makes me funny. Gotta do this more often.
"I-I feel like that's meant to be the other way around, no?"
I smile because I've thought the same thing more times than once. Wasn't Tommy the one that was supposed to bail? Maybe that's just me feeding into stereotypes, though.
"Maybe, but Cindy always has to be different."
Sighing, I angle my head to get a better look at him. I want a change in subject so I ask him about why he was clutching his knee like his favorite blankie just got a new rip in it.
He rolls his eyes. "We played a game recently, and I got tackled pretty hard. My legs been bugging me again, so... Gotta keep up with stuff like this."
His calf gets a little pat as punctuation.
"My brothers told me." I nod. "That's how I found out."
He frowns. "That's how you found out?"
"Yeah. I was getting some work done at my parent's house, and on my way out I saw your fat head on the TV."
I don't know why I'm suddenly talking to him like I've known him all my life. Like if he's Hope or Ben, when he isn't. When he's just some famous guy I met at a library. But he's too easy to talk to.
Even though I have so many people willing to let me borrow a shoulder or ear, I've been lonely. Talking with him is the most socially satisfied I've felt in months. The most normal. He's not pushing for details about Tommy, or about how I'm feeling.
We're getting to know each other a little, and I love that. I love that this isn't really about him or about me. We're just talking, just listening.
"I figured you would have Googled me first."
Sucking my teeth, I shake my head. "I don't have enough free time to Google stuff like that."
"To Google football players."
I nod. "Specifically you. You might just be the only person I know who plays football."
He hums, putting on a stupid posh accent. "Interesting."
I want to laugh at how dumb he says that, but something catches my eye before I can.
My eyes find his hand working up and down his shin again.
Now, I'm no expert, but I've read enough sports romances to know that these professionals usually get hurt and then, one chapter later, have a physical therapist at their side. Where is this dude's therapist? Doesn't he have people for this stuff?
"Hey, I have a question."
"Yes?"
"So, aren't you rich or something?"
"Here we go." He mutters under his breath.
I can't help the loud, ridiculous noise I make. His eyes widen, and he pulls his lips into his mouth.
"Trust me, Levin. Not interested. I was just going to ask... Aren't there like more private spaces for you to get this looked at? Like a famous-people hospital?"
His lips curl. "I think a hospital is a hospital. How about you? Thinking the same thing?"
I roll my eyes at him.
"Screw you."
He laughs, quick to apologize beneath his giggling.
"I'm kidding, okay? Relax. And technically speaking... yes. There are definitely more private ways I could get my leg checked out, but—I don't know. It makes me feel normal, not having to get someone to do it at my house or at practice."
Maybe I don't get exactly what he's talking about, but I get it to an extent.
I had a lot of privileges with who I was dating.
Tommy was so set that I could get my own personal driver for the rest of my life if I wanted. We could hire a cook, or a cleaner. We could afford a house filled to the brim with exotic animals, if we really wanted.
But I like cooking and cleaning for myself. I like driving myself to work and my animal-free living arrangement. I like doing normal things on my own.
I don't need anything fancy or extravagant.
"I know what you—"
"Wright. Levin?" Someone calls.
We both look over to a doctor holding a clipboard in one hand.
"One sec." He calls back. Levin's shoulders slump and he frowns at me. "Come with me. I need a friend."
That's the oddest, most random request I've ever received from a nearly-stranger person.
"Aww. Too bad Mommy's not here to hold your hand."
He laughs, standing up. "Bye, Cindy. Happy pregnancy."
"Ugh, don't remind me."
That makes him laugh again. Is it weird that all I want to do is watch this guy smile and hear him laugh. What is wrong with me? Maybe he's too pretty. It's affecting my mental state or something.
Someone get this man off the streets, jeez.
I watch as he walks away, absentmindedly tugging at a loose thread on my shirt. Once he's out of sight (and very much not out of mind), I watch my fingers twirl the thread.
Maybe I'm crazy, but I look up at the sound of footsteps nearing me. Did he just come back?
"Cindy?"
I frown. "Did you forget something?"
"Yeah. Your number."