Tiny Drops
Dusti Dawn Rose
Brice rushes into the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of water. “You better drink this. I don’t want anyone getting heatstroke today. We need you healthy, so we can work you to the bone,” she jokes, passing them the water, all traces of the tears from moments ago gone. She catches my eye and mouths the word sorry. I hate that she thinks she needs to apologize to me all the time, but it creates a warmth deep inside me just the same.
“Gee, thanks,” Cassie says, bumping hips with Brice. “You know I’d work my butt off for you anytime. I’m always here for you, babe.”
“Thank you,” Brice replies, and the tears I hear in her voice are enough to make me want to get to work.
“Cassie, why don’t you take a break and hang in the air conditioning for a while? We’ll take a big load over.” They’ve been working on filling the truck full of boxes from Bernard’s place. All of his boxes are heavy. All of them. When I asked him what was so heavy, his reply was, words are heavy, no matter how you look at it. It was one of those comments that I wanted to write down and keep forever. Bernardism’s…maybe one day I’ll write a book.
23
Lay It Out There
“Two days, huh?” Jesse says, turning into the driveway.
“Yeah.”
“Just, yeah? Are you excited? I bet it’s a girl. Cassie said she had a feeling, and she’s almost always right.”
I don’t know what to say to this. The fear is always present. I can’t imagine being a parent will be different. I think the fear will just get bigger. “I’m scared shitless.” I’m not sure why I say it, I don’t speak my feelings out loud very often, especially where fear is concerned. I always think it gains power if you put it out there.
A wicked chuckle escapes him as he slaps me on the back. It throws me off; laughter was the last thing I expected.
“Welcome to parenthood, my friend. Trust me, it just gets worse. Wait till you hold her.” He pumps his fist into his chest. “I can guarantee, you’ve never felt anything like it.”
Crunching gravel is the only sound in the truck as his words swirl in my thoughts. I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad. This has all been so surreal, but this morning when I walked into the bathroom after Brice’s shower, and saw the roundness in her belly that hadn’t been visible a week ago, it suddenly felt real. There’s life growing inside her—life I helped create. A life that will forever change mine in the best possible way.
A slow, easy smile takes over my face, in spite of the fear in the pit of my stomach. Monday, we find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. I always pictured my oldest as a boy, I’m not sure why. A month ago, we weren’t even married…now we’re having a family.
“Nah, we’re having a boy for sure.”
“What’s your wager?”
“Seriously?” We used to do this as kids, but that was a long time ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Jesse’s feeling nostalgic. “Free reign? Anything goes?”
He slowly nods his head. I think the true implications of what he’s done are just beginning to register.
“Lay it on me. Doesn’t matter, because I’m going to win.” He opens his door and the wave of heat envelops the truck cab instantly. Air conditioning fades quickly when it’s pushing a hundred degrees.
“Loser hosts the barbecues for the rest of the summer.” I’m not entirely sure that I’ll win, so I don’t want to pick something too bad. My freshman year of high school was spent with only one eyebrow. It was a lesson-learning experience for me, so now I never pick a punishment that will have a lasting effect. Especially when the winner is left for fate to decide.
I close the door to the truck, wishing I had thought about central air when I was updating the house. We have a swamp cooler in the laundry room window, but it does little to combat the ever-present heat.
Heat waves hover above the gravel, and it’s not even noon. It’s going to be a long day. Jesse’s already at the back of the truck. The sound of the big door rolling up snaps me back to the moment and I round the truck, tucking my bandana into my shorts pocket for easy access. It’s time to get sweaty.
“You’re not starting without me, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, brother.” He glances over at me, wiggling his eyebrows as if we’re in for loads of fun. This guy. I shake my head as he starts dancing to music playing just for him, grabbing the first box as his feet dance to the beat of the unheard song. “Try not to think too much about every box. I’d like to get home before midnight.” He laughs as he heads toward Bernard’s little porch.
Sometimes my thoughts overtake me, and I don’t even realize I’ve stopped all movement. My mom says I’ve been that way forever. She always used to tell me that I’m not someone who tries something a dozen ways before I get it right. I’m someone who thinks and analyzes something until I fully understand it. Then I do it once, correctly. The truth is, most of the time I’m not even thinking about the task at hand. My thoughts are millions of miles away in a place all their own.
“There’s only one way to pick up a box, Ford,” Jesse says, as he grabs his second, heading back to the porch. “Get over here and open this door. That way I don’t have to pick them all up twice.” He sets his box down, grabs his bandana, and wipes the sweat that’s already forming on his forehead. His eyes meet mine, and I see that he’s set all joking aside. “I’m worried about her, too, Ford. I would rip the world in half if something were to happen to my baby sister. But she’s so fucking strong. That’s what you have to remember. This might be hard, but she’s up for it. She always goes headfirst after the things she wants in life, and that girl was made to be a mother. Don’t doubt her or this. Get out of that fucking head of yours and open this door before I smack your ass.” He smirks, trying to contain a full smile.
I close the distance to the porch and open the door. “Think we can get it unloaded in thirty?” I ask, sliding the key in the lock.
“Shit, I would’ve been done already if it wasn’t for your slow ass!”
I know it won’t be long now before we’re heading back to reload. I can’t wait to move all of our things into our home. Our home. This is where we will spend our life together, and today and every day after is just the beginning. Because as long as we’re taking air into our lungs, we can dream of tomorrow—and tomorrow is always a beautiful day.
24
Time to Fire up the Grill…
“Why are you so nervous?” I ask.
Brice is adorable, with her little round belly bump barely showing in the enormous gown she’s wearing. She’s lying on the table, knees bent, bouncing her toes. The hand that isn’t resting on her stomach is covering most of her face.
She slowly lowers her hand, and I immediately wish she would put it back. Apparently, questions are out of the question.
“I don’t know! How would you like to be poked and prodded? They will be looking at my insides! How would you like it if they were looking at your insides?”
She’s been like this for the last two days. The house is a disaster of half-full boxes, and I think it’s adding to her mood. She hates disorder, says it makes her mind feel boxed in. Couple that with the excitement of today, and the fear that maybe we won’t find out—maybe the baby won’t let us see—and what we wind up with is a very messy emotional cocktail being poured. Time for an intervention before things get crazy.
“Everything will be fine. You have nothing to worry about.” I walk over to her and place my hand over the one she has resting over our child. I lean down close enough to whisper, “Just as long as you don’t fart.” I smile, and I’m sure she sees it. Damn. The effect would have been better if I could have held it in. I’m not surprised when her little hand connects with my shoulder. I’m surprised that it stings a bit, though.
“Are you serious right now?” She huffs, but I see my comment had the intended effect. Now she’s just irritated at me and doesn’t look so nervous. “This is all very serious, Harrison.”
I’m relie
ved for the knock at the door. I’m sure that by the end of the visit she will have forgotten all about her irritation. Her sharp intake of breath turns my attention to her. She’s pulled herself up on the table, her feet now dangling in front of her.
Our eyes meet and I rush to her side, wrapping my arm around her. “It’s fine, it’s going to be just fine,” I whisper to her, my lips connecting with her hair.
“Come in,” she calls, after taking a second quick breath.
A woman walks in, eyes on the chart she’s holding in front of her. She looks up with a kind smile that transforms her whole face. “Good afternoon, I’m Crystal. I’ll be doing your ultrasound today. This is the big one, right?” She glances back at the chart, double-checking the information there. “So, I guess the big question is, do you want to know? Or are you wanting to be surprised?”
“We want to know,” we both say simultaneously.
I haven’t been this nervous since my job interview at the high school five years ago. Luckily, that went my way. Now I get to spend every day teaching in the same class I was inspired in all those years ago. Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out for me if I had been placed in Ms. Jenkins’ class instead of Bernard’s. The impact he’s had on my life has been tremendous. I don’t know who I would have been without him always looking out for me.
“All right, let’s take a look then.” Crystal smiles again as she gently opens Brice’s gown. “Is this your first?” she asks, squirting some kind of blue jelly on her stomach.
“Yeah,” Brice answers, reaching her hand up for mine. Our fingers connect, and I feel the electrical hum that comes only from her. It warms my body, calming my nerves. “But, definitely not our last,” she continues. “We have a big house and need a big family. I’ve got a lot of love to give.” She smiles up at me, and I have to stop myself from leaning down and tasting her perfect lips.
I glance back at Crystal. She has some sort of wand thing that must transfer the image to the screen, because as soon as she places it on Brice’s stomach, I see movement. It’s hard to make out anything else at first. The picture is black and white and grainy, but after I look at it for a moment, it begins to take shape. I can clearly see the head and the little arms moving around.
“Oh, she’s not shy at all,” Crystal says, her bright smile like pure sunshine.
Her words ping around inside my head for a moment, their meaning lost to me. She. She said she. Brice squeezes my hand tightly, beginning to squeal like the little girl she was that first day I met her, all of those years ago.
“Did you say she? Did she say she? Oh my God! A girl, we’re having a baby girl.”
Her last words reverse the paralyzation that has momentarily overtaken me. I’m surprised when I feel moisture on my face. I don’t cry.
“Sure did. Do you see that?” Crystal asks, pointing toward the grainy image. “Right there? Where it looks like an equal sign? That equal sign is her vagina. You are having a girl! Congrats, Mom.”
She continues her work, the mouse in her hand making the arrow move across the image. She’s dragging lines from one spot to another, taking measurements of her. Measurements of our baby. I grew up an only child. I have no idea how to care for a baby. The idea of that is just as terrifying as it is exciting.
Brice squeezes my fingers. I glance from the screen, to her, and see a steady stream of tears sliding down the side of her face into the mass of curls that lie beneath her. When our eyes meet, the smile she gives me could brighten the darkest night, and I know that it’s liquid joy pouring from her.
Our baby girl puts her little hand up and waves her tiny fingers and a laugh escapes me. “Did you see that? She just waved.”
Crystal gives me a knowing smile. I’m sure she witnesses these kinds of things all day long, but the moment feels magical to me. I want nothing more than to get down on my knees and kiss all over Brice’s belly. Our daughter—my daughter—is in there. Moving and growing in a world all her own. It has never felt more real than it does in this moment.
“I have all the measurements we need. Say goodbye, Dad. Next time you see her, you’ll be holding her in your arms,” Crystal says, removing the wand from Brice’s belly, causing the screen to go black. When she flips the light on, I feel a moment of sadness, the visual connection with my daughter lost.
“Let’s go shopping,” Brice says the moment the door closes behind Crystal. The smile that’s living on her face looks like it could stay there forever. “Target. They have the best little girl things. I’ve been browsing for weeks. I’m so excited to finally be able to put things in the cart!”
She hops off the table, and when she pulls the tent of a gown off, I reach out for her, pulling her into my arms. My fingers graze across her naked skin, causing it to pebble. As I start to trail kisses down her shoulder, she melts into me, and I feel myself harden. I didn’t think this through. I place one chaste kiss on her belly and straighten.
“Shopping, then dinner, then you. The rest of the world can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is for us,” I tell her, as I step back to let her dress.
25
One on One
“Knock, knock.” I say the words as I rap my knuckles against the wood. I never wait for him to open the door. I haven’t in years.
“Is that you, Harry?”
It sounds like he’s in the kitchen. I pull the door closed and head toward his voice.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need a hand hanging this one.” Bernard is standing on a chair against the windowless wall behind his table. A large canvas is propped beneath him. My muscles tense at the sight. He shouldn’t be up there.
I rush to his chair and reach a hand up to him. “Old man, what’re you doing up there? Trying to get yourself killed?” He glances around like he has no idea what the big deal is.
“Who are you calling old man?” He laughs, effortlessly stepping off the chair. “These legs have been carrying me around for nearly eighty years now. I’m familiar with these legs. I know how to use them.” He turns and winks at me, his smile full of amusement. “Now, if you’re through insulting me, lend me a hand so we can get this beauty on the wall.” He reaches down and turns the canvas.
“Wow.” It’s the only response I can give as I take in the painting I’ve never seen before. I know it’s an early piece. The brush strokes are lighter, freer—creating a softening of the image. “When did she do this one?” I ask, feeling a familiar pang of regret for the years we were forced to spend apart. I can’t figure out what I’m looking at. “What is it?”
“Boy, you are just full of questions today.” He laughs, shaking his head as he admires the piece with me. “This is her first—what started her creative journey. It’s a cross-cut section of a blade of grass. Those little smiling faces spoke to her…woke her up, so to speak.”
I lift the canvas, surprised at the weight. It’s much bigger than she normally does, and I wonder why I’ve never seen it before. Brice has made a living out of passion. It’s the unseen that speaks to her—the things that are there under the surface. When she talks about a piece she’s working on, her whole body glows. She’s her true self when she’s immersed in her art. I love to watch her paint. I could stand in the doorway for an hour and not even know it.
I remember the day she told me about how she felt looking in the microscope. I never could have imagined how this could come from that. How it’d ignited this passion and talent she had buried inside.
I step back once the painting is secure on the wall, taking it all in. The blade of grass fills most of the picture. Its shape is curved, the backside flat and smooth as if it’s the wall containing the world inside. The inside edge is uneven with large knobs coming off of it and little, soft green hairs covering the surface. Inside, it looks like a series of small, smiling faces, their mouths a glowing blue color. I can’t help but reach out and touch the surface of the painting there. Her work always has that effect on me—the textures calling to be touched.
“What are you doing here anyway? Always just come when you please.” He’s pacing now, wringing his hands. “You should go. Go on, get out of here!”
His eyes find mine, and I don’t know the man standing before me. I’ve only seen him like this once before, and that was a time I try to forget. I hope it’s not too late to get through to him.
“Let’s check your sugar. I think you’re low.” I see his monitor sitting on the counter by the fridge and go to grab it.
“I don’t need you here. Get out!” He stumbles with the force of his voice and falls into the table.
My heart is racing as I try to figure out how to get him to drink some juice. I need Brice. She could break through the deepest haze. But she’s in Seattle for the weekend visiting Jayden.
“See what you did? I told you I don’t need you here!” He slumps into the chair, his words dripping disdain.
I ignore his harshness. Grabbing the fridge door, I hold my breath, hoping to find what I need inside. I let it go at the sight of the orange carton sitting on the top shelf. Pulling it out, I carry it to the counter. There’s an empty water glass sitting beside the sink. That’ll do. I fill it halfway. How am I going to get this juice in him?
“Fine, I’ll go. But only if you drink this.” Please. I set the juice in front of him of and step back.
“Fuck you and your juice!”
He swipes his arm out, knocking the glass from the table. I flinch as it connects with the lower cabinets and shatters. That’s not going to work.
