Exposed: A Novel (22 page)

Chapter 51
Ally

Jessie couldn’t come to my next prenatal appointment and boy was I glad. I checked in, sat down, and five seconds later two girls walked in. One of them looked like a smaller version of Angelina Jolie, but the other looked exactly like Jessie’s type. You know, tall, curvy, blonde, and pretty much perfect.

She walked over to check in as her Angelina friend sat down on a chair to the left of me, against the wall.

I couldn’t help but notice their clothing. The Angelina girl appeared about mid-twenties or so. But the beautiful blonde, she seemed a bit younger, maybe twenty-one at the most. And they dressed like pop stars. Short skirts, high heels, silky straight hair, bangs—you name it.

After Blondie checked in she walked by me. Naturally, I glanced at her ring finger. I assumed she wasn’t married, but you know, I wanted to check. She could’ve been there for a routine checkup, but something told me she was pregnant. Something about the way she timidly walked across the room, shoulders hunched, head down. She didn’t carry herself the way she should’ve based off her looks and style. No confidence existed in her stride.

The other women in the room also stared at the girls. I tried not to be noticeable, but I couldn’t help it. I longed for the youth and beauty in that girl, her smooth face and flawless legs, thinking maybe Jessie’d love me if I looked like her.

Then, Angelina’s voice jammed pencils in my ear and right to my heart.

“Don’t worry about these nasty looks.” She smiled at the very pregnant woman across from me. “These women are just jealous because their husbands have probably seen your porno flicks.” She laughed so cold I wondered if her heart could survive such bitterness. “Told ya to get an abortion. You’d fit in better with that crowd anyway.”

Her words stung the open wounds in my heart and lingered there, like a never-ending bee sting. I hated porn stars even more. My eyes narrowed so much I could barely see their faces, but I looked anyway, making sure they saw my disgust. Not only with the porn, but the absolute insolence to mention abortion around other pregnant women.

Blondie, the little pregnant porn star, fidgeted with the frays of her jean skirt while Angelina rolled her eyes and slumped back in her chair. The cute blonde nurse Jessie admired called a name. Blondie stood, walked away, and disappeared. I thought porn stars lived in California, not here. So close to home, to Jessie—it scared me.

The bee sting pricked me, over and over, in places I didn’t know existed. Meanwhile, Angelina rocked back and forth in her chair, rummaged through her purse repeatedly, and repositioned her boobs about fifteen times, pushing them up for the world to see.

Laughable, yes, but with every strange motion from her direction I wanted to ask her why she would want to ruin marriages and be a sexual object to so many men.

Dodging relentless thoughts in my mind, I sat there with a pigeon-toed brain, too wobbly to evade the arrows coming at me from every direction.

Another nurse—thank heavens it wasn’t a blonde-haired girl—called my name.

I walked toward her smile. She ushered me in the hallway, took my weight as I wondered what Blondie weighed, and led me to my room.

A door clicked open. I followed the nurse and turned my head to the left. Blondie stood there, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. I furrowed my brow, shook my head, and kept walking.

But no matter how far I walked from her pretty little self—or should I say, pretty tall self—a hole in the shape of her body tore through my mind, its serrated contour reminding me of my ragged marriage.

Lisa told me I was almost ten weeks along as she slid the heartbeat monitor over my belly. The baby’s heartbeat thudded through the room. Forget horse feet, this child’s heart raced much faster than any horse I ever heard.

“Still going strong,” Lisa said. “Will you be finding out the sex of the baby?”

“Yes, we will. When will that be?”

She slid the monitor off my skin and wiped my belly with a paper towel. “About twenty weeks. Ten weeks from now.” She tossed the paper towel in a trashcan under the sink. “I don’t know how true some of those pregnancy myths are, but based off the heartbeat, they’d say it’s a boy.”

“Well, I don’t know how true those are either, but I’m happy as long as it’s a healthy baby.” I sat up. “Having so much trouble with infertility, I’m so afraid of a miscarriage.”

“The good news is miscarriages are most common in the first twelve weeks, and you only have two more to go.”

Perhaps she intended to ease my concern, but knowing I still had two weeks to go stressed me out even more. Knowing me, I’d think about it every second, counting down the days, imagining pangs in my abdomen.

Please, Lord. Let this be it. Let this baby make it these next two weeks.

When I arrived home, I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water and some crackers to munch on. If I didn’t eat (literally all day long) my nausea would worsen and worsen to the point of vomiting. So I always snacked on something, and still felt hungry.

As I poured a glass of distilled water, I noticed a note on the counter by the entrance to the dining room. The closer I got the more I noticed Jessie’s handwriting.

Cracker crumbs landed on the note as I read it.

Go to the place we met and find your next assignment. –Your Stupid Husband-

I chuckled inside at his signature. But I didn’t want an assignment. Another attempt at romance wasn’t something I’d receive well. Not now. Not after the porn star encounter. I exhaled.

I finished my crackers and water, then grabbed my keys, got in my car, and headed to 95 South toward Barnes & Noble in White Marsh. Didn’t think much about it. Just went and figured I’d get through it, even if I didn’t want to.

As the dotted lines of the highway disappeared behind me, memories of Jessie managed to rinse thoughts of porn, at least for now.

When I met JessIe, Barnes & Noble in White Marsh was home to me. Hot chocolate, caramel frappaccinos suffocated by whipped cream, extra creamy macchiatos, and books, books, and more books. Call it a bookstore if you will, I called it my corner of heaven.

Sure enough, my table was open. After exchanging five George Washington’s for one iced caramel latte with extra caramel, I tucked myself in the corner of the room and watched people.

A young girl—probably seventeen—and her boyfriend sat down behind me as she rambled about how Shane thought she was so hot, but how she didn’t care. I would have loved to see the look on her boyfriend’s face.

He responded, “So, why’ve you been talking about it for ten minutes?”

Man, I wanted to jump up and high-five him right there.

But someone caught my attention.

He walked through the door and stood in line at the cafe. My heart stopped. I know that sounds cliché, but honestly, I think it did.

Sometimes life stops and nothing else matters but the moment you’re stuck in. You want to pause it so bad, but at the same time fast-forward to see what happens.

That’s the best way I can describe the moment I first saw Jessie Graham.

Two weeks passed and I spent every day at Barnes & Noble. Didn’t see him for fourteen days. When hope turned sour, the sky turned to raspberry and in he walked, book under his arm, lips slightly upturned, and man oh man, I loved him.

Okay, so maybe love wasn’t the right word but you know what I mean.

Pretending to read
The Four Loves
by C.S. Lewis, I turned a page and looked up. He sat down by the window across the room. I looked down, smiled inside, maintained my horrible acting by flipping pages faster than Lewis himself could’ve read them, and looked up again.

Jessie looked away. I caught him staring at me.

My fingers whipped another five pages while, like any twenty-something-year-old girl would have done, I silently whispered, “Wow,” until my brain told me to shut up.

I glanced up again. He stood and walked away. Afraid to lose him again, I stood and followed. He stopped in the Religion section. A Christian? I approached him and tried something Verity did to strangers. “Describe your soul in three words.”

He didn’t smile. “My soul?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said to the books.

“My soul,” he said. “Well, exploratory, flawed, and idealistic.”

I ran my index finger down the spines of a few books. I’d been with Verity a few times when she asked random strangers that question, but I never heard an answer like his—so honest and serious.

“What about you?”

I knew he’d ask. I picked up a book, hoping he wouldn’t ask again.

“Well, you can’t ask someone that and not expect to answer it yourself.”

“Well,” I said to the book. “I don’t know.”

He pointed to
The Four Loves
still in my other hand. His fingers brushed mine. My stomach danced.

“C.S. Lewis, huh?” he said.

“Yeah. I’m studying Psychology at Towson University.”

“Oh yeah? What are your plans?”

“I’d like to be a marriage counselor.”

“A marriage counselor? Pretty specific.”

“I’ve seen love turn into something evil too many times. I want to help people stay in love.”

He looked down at my hands, analyzed
The Four Loves
with an expression I’d later discover the meaning behind, and smiled. Phew. I breathed again.

“You ever been in love?” he said.

“Not yet.”

“Well, how do you know you’ll be able to help people stay in love?”

“Because,” my lips began without my heart’s permission, “I’ve spent my entire life waiting for love, so I can be faithful to the one man I’m waiting to give my heart to. Love is important to me. Marriage is important to me.”

“But you’re not married yet.”

I smiled. “I will be.”

“Ah, an idealist.”

“Realist,” I said.

And he laughed.

I smiled, inside and outside. The sparkle in Jessie’s eyes—and I’m sure my own eyes as well—the day we met, well, I’ve never seen a light in his eyes like that since. It was a light created for the day our eyes finally found each other’s.

I veered off the highway toward White Marsh, listening to my own naïve voice in my head. I want to help people stay in love. Love is important to me. Marriage is important to me. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know what love and marriage entailed. I didn’t understand how deep pain could run.

I stopped at a red light in the left lane.

Less than five minutes from Jessie and I wanted to turn around.

There’s nothing to fix, I thought. I need to either deal with it or not deal with it. I can’t fix him.

I accelerated, turned, and thought about that first night again.

The sun disappeared behind Barnes & Noble as Jessie and I sat in the café talking until someone tapped me on the shoulder and kindly asked us to leave. They closed fifteen minutes ago. We had no idea.

Falling in love does that to you.

“Let’s go,” Jessie said as he tossed a backpack over his shoulder and stood.

I didn’t want to.

He smiled, walked over to me and waited to pull out my chair. I stood. He slid the chair from under me. I slipped my purse over my forearm and grinned. Modest, considering I wanted to beam from ear to ear. Didn’t want to scare the guy away.

His fingers linked with mine as he led me to the door, opened it for me without letting go of my hand, and smiled again. A trace of cologne brushed by my nose. I inhaled and smiled.

Mom always said, “Wait for the butterflies.” She said I’d know when I found the person I was meant to marry because every time I’d see or think about him, I’d get butterflies in my stomach. Well, I was off to a good start. Although I wonder if I should’ve taken advice from her in the first place.

Either way, my stomach could have been mistaken for a sack of four hundred tiny butterflies. That couldn’t have been a bad sign.