 "Just a little while longer, Michelle. You can make it just a little while longer," I coax myself as I flush the toilet and emerge from the middle stall for the second time in the past hour, staring at my weary reflection in the mirror as I walk to the nearest lavatory. Lifting one trembling hand to my pale face, I fix the smudged eyeliner below my left eye. Wetting the pads of my fingertips underneath a stream of cold water, I press them to the feverish skin of my throat as I close my eyes, waiting for my equilibrium to return. Cautiously, I navigate my unsteady legs to one of the chaise lounges in the powder room and recline against it's velvety softness. After several quiet moments, the room ceases to spin, and I gather the handles of my purse in one clammy hand as I stand and push against the resistance of the heavy wooden door with the other, prepared to rejoin the festivities.
I pause just inside the hallway, smoothing the creases in my dress slacks and pushing the hair from my sweaty temple as I attempt to regain the remainder of my composure. Dabbing at the corners of my mouth with a tissue, I peer around the edge of the doorway, discretely watching as our guests mingle in one of the reserved, private dining rooms of The Towers restaurant. Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed my most recent, ten minute absence.
Ray and Josefina sit hunched over a nearby table to my right, completely engrossed in a discussion with Abby, and as she gestures to her right ear, I know instinctively that they're talking about the implant. At the bar, Guillermo, Danny, and Bill are seated side by side, quietly sipping their second round of scotch as they watch some type of sporting event on the overhead television. Abuela and Aunt Meta sit nestled together on one of the overstuffed couches in the back of the room, becoming fast friends over a whispered conversation. The blending of the Bauer and Santos families warms my heart, and I smile in spite of the overwhelming worry that has consumed me for the past three days.
As I make my way to the back of the room, several members of the wait staff breeze past me on their way to the kitchen, their arms overflowing with china and flatware as they busily clean up after our Sunday brunch. Everyone was so genuinely happy to share in the celebration of our engagement announcement that my inability to eat more than three bites of my Eggs Benedict went completely unnoticed.
Utterly oblivious to my presence, Aunt Meta and abuela clutch each other's hands tightly as their laughter overlaps and floats throughout the room. Clearing my throat, I place my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrows in mock sternness, waiting for their eyes to meet mine. "Sorry to interrupt," I say as they both straighten their posture, reminding me of two children caught misbehaving. "So... Rick's gone already?" I ask, glancing over both of my shoulders.
Nodding, Aunt Meta answers, "You just missed him."
A look of disappointment must be evident upon my face because abuela interjects, "He said that he hated to have to leave your brunch." I'm not unaccustomed to Rick being called to the hospital in the middle of something important, but he seemed almost relieved whenever his beeper went off. I could tell that Danny sensed it as well, his eyes upon me as Rick excused himself to make the phone call.
"What was it this time?" I sigh, plopping down on the cushion between them as Aunt Meta scoots to her left to make room for me.
I watch her wrinkled fingers curl around mine as she draws my hand into her lap, and her voice soothes my frazzled nerves despite the gravity of her answer, "There was a fire in one of the businesses on Eighth Street... multiple traumas."
Instantly feeling contrite, tears sting the backs of my eyes, and my free hand flies to my mouth as I implore, "It's no one we know, is it?"
Reaching for my trembling hand, abuela pulls it to her chest and shakes her head 'no' as Aunt Meta reassures, "No, dear. No one we know."
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I fight back the tears that are on the verge of falling from my eyes as I apologize meekly, "I'm sorry that I'm so emotional. It's just... Rick hasn't been the same since he learned that Danny and I are getting married." Looking from one woman to the other, I finish, "I don't know what to do."
Giving my hand a squeeze, Aunt Meta offers, "He's your big brother, sweetie. He's not ready to give you away just yet, but he'll come around. Don't worry... Abby and I will work on him."
Hooking her fingers underneath my chin, abuela turns my eyes to hers as she adds, "It's very hard to let something so precious go." Looking into her compassionate eyes and feeling Aunt Meta's hand rubbing calming circles across my back, I want so desperately to share this worry that I, alone, have been carrying for the past three days. But... as my eyes drift over to the bar and focus on the back of the man that wants to be my husband, I know that he has a right to be the first one that I share this with. Recalling Ray's words about the importance of honesty in a relationship during this morning's mass, I make a silent vow to unburden my heart to Danny the minute that we return home.
Attempting to lighten the mood when she sees that my mind has wandered, Aunt Meta lifts our joined hands and extends her index finger in Danny's direction, saying, "You know, Michelle... just before you got here, I was telling Maria that she raised a fine young man."
"So... does that mean that you approve of my choice, then?" I ask, shooting a quick wink at abuela before turning my attention back to Aunt Meta.
Throwing her head back and clutching a hand to her chest dramatically, she answers, "Charming, sweet, and handsome... what's not to love?" I shrug my shoulders as I stare into her warm eyes. "Of course... I may be biased," she begins, slipping off her right shoe and pointing down to her foot as she wiggles five short, chubby, perfectly pedicured toes beneath the nude material of her pantyhose. "I used my gift certificate to Lockworks Spa on Friday, and I don't think that I've come down from cloud nine quite yet." Leaning back against the fluffy cushions at her back, she drapes an arm around my shoulders and leans in close, whispering in my ear, "Any man that sends your great aunt to a spa for a day's worth of pampering is definitely a keeper, dear."
As if on cue, I watch Danny rise from his barstool, downing the remainder of his drink as he slaps Guillermo on the back and shakes hands with Bill, his eyes searching me out all the while. When they settle on mine, I'm overcome by a flood of indefinable emotions as he slowly closes the distance between us. "Ladies," he whispers, tilting his head slightly to acknowledge all three of us even as his eyes remain transfixed on mine. "You wouldn't mind if I stole my fiancee away from you for a bit, would you?" he asks, his voice dripping with sweetness as he extends his hand to me.
"Of course not," they answer in unison as I place my hand in his, and he helps me to my feet, the surge of electricity passing between us as strong as it's always been.
"Dance with me?" he breathes into my hair as he pulls me against him, and I close my eyes and bite my lip as I nod in agreement.
He interlaces his fingers with mine as he leads me to the small dance floor, and I glance back at the couch over my shoulder, stifling a laugh when I see Aunt Meta and abuela snickering behind their hands like a couple of schoolgirls. "They said that they'd do it," he whispers against my neck, wrapping his arms around my waist as we begin to sway to a soft-playing jazz tune.
Unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of my body in his arms, a long silence passes between us before I manage to utter, "Do what, baby?"
Lifting his head to stare into my eyes, he answers with a smile, "Guillermo and Bill agreed to be the groomsmen at our wedding."
Pressing my cheek to the warmth of his chest once again, I will the tears not to come, but I have little control over my emotions, and they spill forth from my puffy eyes and soak into his hunter green dress shirt as I quietly sob against him. His grip on me instinctively tightens, and my heart feels like it's splintering into a million pieces as he asks worriedly, "Isn't that what we agreed on... Guillermo and Bill, and Josefina and Abby?"
Sniffling, I nod my head against his chest when I can't find my voice. I want this wedding to be perfect, but now I don't know how that will ever happen... not if my suspicions are right. Still... there's a time and a place for the discussion that we need to have, and the middle of the cramped, little dance floor at Towers is not it. Cradling my face in his hands, he tilts my head back and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs as he searches my eyes for answers. "Yes, Danny," I finally manage to choke, my pitiful attempt at sounding like there's nothing wrong unconvincing even to me as it echoes in my ears.
Avoiding his stare, I lower my eyes to the large, wet spot on his shirt, dabbing at it furiously with the crumpled tissue in my hand. "What's the matter, baby?" he asks, his voice quivering as he lifts my chin, and I close my lids as our eyes meet.
I shake my head 'no', caressing the fingers of his left hand as it rests upon my cheek. My stomach begins to pitch and churn as a nauseating aroma assaults my nostrils, and my eyes flutter open, seeking out the source of the offending odor. Two china cups, rattling slightly in their saucers, and a carafe of freshly brewed coffee sit atop the silver tray of a passing waiter as he cuts across the dance floor, winding his way to Aunt Meta and abuela on the opposite side of the room.
Clutching a hand to my mouth, I squirm out of Danny's arms and retrace the familiar steps to the ladies' room for the third time, the fingers of my free hand slipping from his as he reaches out to grab me. The concern in his voice is evident as he calls my name over and over again, and I quicken my pace once I reach the hallway, hearing his footsteps following behind mine. Dropping to my knees in front of the commode, I grip the cool, porcelain seat to steady myself, and I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out the flickering, overhead, fluorescent light and the sickening stench of toilet cleanser. He is kneeling beside me, muttering whispered words of comfort into my ear, one hand resting against my back, the other holding my hair in a loose ponytail as I heave violently into the pale blue water.
"You shouldn't be in here," I mumble, my breath making ripples across the water as my head still hangs over the bowl. Embarrassed by my vulnerability, I avert my eyes as I sit back against the coral-colored partition that separates this stall from the next.
Reaching above my head, he unrolls a dozen or more sheets of paper, cradling my chin in his hand as he blots the vomit from the corners of my mouth. "I'm not leaving," he insists, his hand trembling as he throws the tissue into the toilet and presses the flusher. After several moments of silence, he extends his hands to me, asking, "Can you stand?"
He pulls me to my feet when I nod my head, wrapping an arm tightly around my waist as he leads me to one of several lavatories. Never loosening his protective grip on me, he presses a cool, damp towel to my face and throat until my skin loses its flush, his gentle, loving caresses healing my weary soul. Cupping a handful of water in his palm, he lifts it to my lips and says bluntly, "Rinse." Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I sip from his hand, neutralizing the acid in the back of my throat as I swirl the cold water in my mouth. Our eyes lock in the mirror as I lean over the sink to spit, and I realize that the little discussion that I'd postponed for later in the day can wait no longer.
Draping my arm around his shoulders, he helps me into the powder room and together, we sit in one of the chaise lounges, my eyes glued to the carpeting to avoid his. "Lie down," he commands, his hand slapping his thigh, and I recline against him, stretching my body out and laying my head in his lap. One of his hands strokes the hair around my forehead, pushing it off of my face, while the other slips underneath my blouse, his fingers resting possessively upon my naked belly.
I push at his hand in shock, attempting to break the intimate contact and sit up, but he keeps me firmly against him, and I finally relent, my own hand falling away. "What if somebody walks in?" I ask, staring up into his eyes.
I bite my lip and close my eyes, lost in his caress as the pads of his fingertips spread out against my lower abdomen, massaging me in a circular motion. "They can't... I locked the door," he whispers in reply.
My eyes fly open as I recall where we are, and my ability at rational reasoning returns as I nag, "What if somebody needs to use the bathroom, Danny?"
"Then they'll use the men's room," he answers quickly, the perturbation in his voice palpable. "You're stalling," he adds, and I fidget with the outer seam of my pant's leg nervously, unable to meet his penetrating stare. "How long have you known?" he finally asks, an unspoken plea in his voice for me to share this with him, and my eyes fill with fresh tears as I pray that I'll be able to find the right words.
"For a few days," I whisper, covering his hand with my own.
There's a sharp intake of breath as he asks, "How many is a few?"
Tapping my finger three times against his hand, I respond sheepishly, "Three." When he doesn't say anything, I continue, "I felt queasy and lightheaded before then, but there always seemed to be a good explanation for my symptoms." I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he recalls the dizzy spell that I had during our night at The Oaks. "When I didn't start my period on Thursday like I was supposed to, I just... I knew. I haven't confirmed it yet, but Danny... my cycles have been twenty-eight days like clockwork for the past two years."
He shifts his weight underneath me, leaning against the cushioned back of the chair, and there is a perceptible hurt in his voice as he stares straight ahead and asks, "How could you not tell me something so important?"
Wanting to erase his pain, I turn my body into him, wrapping my arms around his waist as I make a feeble attempt to explain. "I was in denial at first, I think."
"Denial?" he asks incredulously, the word choking in his throat. His eyes glistening with tears as they drop to meet mine, he massages the twitching muscle in his jaw, questioning, "So... this isn't something that you want?"
Frustrated at myself for choosing the wrong words, I sit up abruptly, the room a dizzying rainbow of corals and creams as it spins around me. Drawing his hands up to my lips, I shower them with tender kisses as I implore, "No... it's not that, Danny. God... it's not that at all. You don't know how many times I've dreamt of having a family with you. It's just... I was just scared, Danny... that's all."
"Of what? Scared that I wouldn't want this?" he begs, turning his body towards mine as his own tears begin to flow. I reach up to wipe them away, and he leans into my caress, not waiting for my response as he bares his soul to me. "Baby... I know that we hadn't planned on this happening, but this is our little miracle, and I want this with you... I do. Don't ever doubt that... you hear me?"
I nod my head when our eyes lock, and he returns a hand to my belly, insisting, "How could you ever think that I'd be anything but happy that you're carrying our first child, Michelle? I love you, baby... with all of my heart, I love you." Leaning over, I press my lips to his, whispered endearments passing between us as I indulge in the sweetness of his kiss, and I laugh against their rosy softness as someone outside tries the door. "Our child," he repeats, his eyes leaving mine to stare in awe at his hand upon my belly, the enormity of the revelation beginning to sink in. "You're going to make me a father," he says excitedly, enjoying the flood of foreign emotions that he's feeling.
Knowing that I need to tell him my other fear about this pregnancy, I stand and fold my arms across my chest, pacing nervously. "Danny... there's something else that we need to talk about, sweetie," I begin, the seriousness in my voice scaring even me.
Though I'm facing away from him, I can sense his panic as he agrees shakily, "Ok."
Staring up at the ceiling, I exhale deeply and wrap my arms around my middle for comfort, clarifying, "There's another reason that this pregnancy scared me so, and I want to share everything with you, Danny... the good and the bad."
He walks up behind me quietly, wrapping his arms around my waist, and he interlaces our fingers as he hugs me securely against him, saying, "Sweetie... I don't ever want you to feel alone again. You're going to be my wife... your worries are my worries." His lips descend upon my shoulder and we softly sway against each other as he whispers, "What is it?"
Staring at our reflection in the mirror atop one of the vanity tables beside us, I focus on his eyes, feeling the soft fluttering of his lashes against my neck, and I brace myself for his reaction as I confess, "Well... I stopped taking my birth control pills this Thursday when I first suspected that I might be pregnant, but what if the pills that I took between the conception and then hurt our baby, Danny?"
I watch as he lifts his face from the crook of my neck, blinking his eyes in confusion as he stares at the back of my head. "Can that happen?" he asks, trying to camouflage the distress in his voice as he turns me in his arms to face him.
Grabbing his shoulders for support, I nod mindlessly as the floodgate of my emotions bursts open, and I release all of the fear and trepidation that I've shouldered alone for the past seventy-two hours. My tears dotting his shirt once again as they fall from my cheeks, I gasp, "Some birth control pills can cause mutations in cell division. What if our baby's born with birth defects, Danny?"
Putting on a brave front for my benefit, he tenderly wipes the tears from my cheeks as he cradles my face in his hands, assuring, "Well, then... we deal with it when the time comes, sweetie." Pulling my head to his chest, he wraps me in one of the warm, loving embraces to which I've grown accustomed, whispering into my hair, "We accept whatever God gives us, Michelle. I don't want you to worry for another minute about something that is beyond our control. This baby will be a blessing to our lives... no matter what happens." I'm instantly put at ease by the determination in his voice and by the soothing touch of his fingers on the nape of my neck and in the small of my back.
"We'll pray about it and we'll put it into God's hands... just like you did when you were facing the possibility of being diagnosed with breast cancer, remember?" he asks, and I stave off fresh tears as his unwavering faith overwhelms me. Words elude me as he backs away slightly to look into my eyes, and he reminds me of my own strength, saying, "You were so brave. I admire you so much, Michelle." I'm amazed when I look into his eyes... amazed that he has convinced me that I have the ability to conquer the world at a time when I, myself, feel my weakest. "You made it through that alone, but now you have me... so just lean on me whenever you're scared, ok?" At this very moment, I know that I've found my soulmate.
"And you'll do the same," I assert, letting him know that from this moment forward, we're on equal ground.
Smiling at my newfound resolve, he smoothes my hair back into place and fixes the smeared foundation on my cheeks, nodding as he replies, "That's right, sweetheart. And together, we'll get through this." When my face is once again presentable and my stuffy nose is blown, he unfastens the silver latch on the door and leads me out of the bathroom, my hand in his as he whispers over his shoulder, "Come on... there's something that we can do that'll give us both peace of mind."
I can't fathom what he's got in mind as we approach the bar, and he whispers something to a sandy-haired bartender, who quickly retreats in the direction of the kitchen. I turn away from the bar, finding each of our guests in the exact spot that we left them a half an hour ago. You'd think that the guests of honor would be missed at their own celebration, but everyone seems to have been content without us, and I'm grateful that I don't have to formulate answers to any difficult questions. The bartender returns with a box of saltine crackers, and Danny motions for him to hand them to me as he fishes a tip out of his pocket for the man's troubles. "To settle your stomach," he whispers in my ear as he wraps an arm around my waist and leads me out of the balcony door.
Staring down at the sparse, Sunday traffic thirty stories below, I nibble the corner of a cracker as I ask curiously, "What are we doing out here, Danny?"
"Privacy," he teases, a finger to his lips as he retrieves his cell phone from his pant's pocket and hands it to me. My eyes drift between his and the tiny, black phone in my outstretched palm, and I shrug my shoulders, lifting my eyebrows in confusion. "I thought that it'd be a good idea to call Dr. Sedwick and get her medical opinion," he clarifies.
Shaking my head 'no', I say stubbornly, "It's Sunday afternoon, Danny." I know that she's in private practice and that the chances of her being on-call this weekend are great, but I'm so fearful of hearing her confirm my worst nightmare that I've put off calling her.
Knowing that I can't delay the call forever, I relent and start dialing her office number as he reads my mind, saying, "She's probably on-call this weekend, Michelle... try having her beeped."
After several excruciatingly long minutes of being put on hold by her answering service, Dr. Sedwick's familiar voice drifts over the line, saying, "Margaret Sedwick, Michelle. How are you doing today?" I clutch Danny's hand to draw from his strength, and a gentle breeze tickles my bare arms as I relay my fears and worries to the woman who's been my doctor for six years.
She listens to my emotional rambling without interrupting me, and when she finally does speak, her tone of voice is reassuring rather than condescending. "Michelle," she begins, waiting for me to acknowledge her so that she can be sure that she's got my full attention. When I comply, she continues, "Please believe me when I tell you that the prescription that you're taking is such a low dosage of estrogen and progesterone that you shouldn't be any more concerned about the incidence of birth defects than any other newly expectant mother." I can't contain the smile that spreads across my face as I nod happily, and I give Danny's hand a light squeeze when I see relief wash over him.
I can hear the rustling of pages being turned as she consults her appointment book. "The first thing that I want you to do tomorrow morning is to go to the Burdin-Reihl clinic and have some lab work done. I'll fax the orders over for a pregnancy test as soon as we hang up." More rustling pages. "Let's see," she continues, "I don't seem to have any available appointments tomorrow, but I'm going to work you in after my office hours." When I open my mouth to tell her that she doesn't have to go to any trouble on my account, she explains, "I'd like to do an early-stage ultrasound. As you know... exposure to hormones causes the lining of the uterus to change, so I'd like to make sure that the embryo has achieved a good implantation." When I offer no response, she clarifies, "But... it's a very good sign that you're experiencing morning sickness."
After assuring me that I shouldn't worry, she congratulates me and asks me to call if I have any more questions or concerns. I feel as if an enormous weight has been lifted from my heart when I hang up, and I mouth the words, 'Thank you', to Danny as I return the phone to his hand.
Pulling me against him, he presses light kisses across my lips, whispering against them, "Let's go home." The day isn't even half over, but I'm exhausted, and the prospect of crawling into our bed and snuggling against one another is too delicious to resist.
Nodding my head, I let him lead me back into the dining room where I plan to briefly reprise my role as hostess. As I open my mouth to give our apologies for our departure, a warm hand descends upon my shoulder, and I turn around, finding a jovial looking Guillermo staring back at me. "There you two are," he whispers to me before raising his voice to address the entire room. "I know that I'm jumping the gun here, but as the soon-to-be, future best man, I'd like to make a toast."
He pauses long enough for Josefina to distribute flutes of champagne to everyone. "To the happy couple," he begins, bowing at the waist in Danny's and my direction. "May the two of you find as much happiness as Jo and I have," he continues, his lips lingering on Josefina's as he interrupts the toast to give her a kiss. "And may nothing ever get in the way of that happiness for as long as you both live. To Danny and Michelle," he finishes, raising his glass to us.
"To Danny and Michelle," everyone repeats in unison, raising their glasses as well. The clinking of glass on glass reverberates inside my head, and I raise my flute to my lips. Thankful that no one notices that I don't take a sip, my eyes drift from one genuinely happy face to the next as my hand instinctively finds my belly, and I pray that God heard Guillermo's plea.
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