20 Weeks

So, this is five months pregnant.

Standing before the bathroom mirror, Jane raised her sack-like maternity shirt up to her diaphragm and stared blankly at her reflection. First she faced the mirror straight on, then turned to the side, and finally pivoted back to the front. She sunk her head down to look at her distended stomach. It seemed to be inflating more every day. She shifted her hands in circles around the conspicuous bulge like a potter molding clay.

So, this is the 'miracle of life.'

Footsteps approached. An additional pair of hands covered hers, entwined with her fingers, and ushered her hands just above her navel. She looked up into the mirror to see Jesse standing behind her, embracing the fullest part of her and resting his cheek on her back.

"You look great," he told her, pressing his lips to her neck and then turning sideways to meet her reflection's gaze.

"Shut up." With a weak smile, Jane dropped her shirt and reached for a bottle from the ever-expanding pharmacy by the sink. Prenatal vitamins. Tylenol. Half a dozen other pills her doctor had prescribed over the past five months and she had accepted with scarcely a nod. She wondered how many of them actually did what they were supposed to do. The irony wasn't lost on her that she was putting more unknown substances in her body now than she had before rehab…the difference being now she almost constantly felt like a plane wreck.

"Breakfast is ready. I made you oatmeal. The box says it has, like, seven essential minerals, so that's good, right?" Jesse posed to her.

She swallowed a prenatal vitamin half the size of her thumb and chased it with water. "Mmm-hmm."

"There's orange juice, too," he went on. "Fresh-squeezed. You never know what kinda chemicals go into the carton stuff, so I figured better be safe than—"

"Sounds good. Be out in a sec."

Once his reflection vanished out the side of the mirror, she leaned in and morosely pressed her fingertips along the dark circles under her eyes. She couldn't remember her last good night's sleep. If it wasn't morning sickness or a sudden urge to pee, it was those dogged withdrawal symptoms that still managed to claw their way to the surface. The aches, the insomnia, the depression…there were still nights she sat up in the living room, pouring her lamentations into her sketchbook, cringing and crying. She let the tears spill freely during those times. Better then than when Jesse was awake.

She hated when Jesse caught her crying. He always blew it entirely out of proportion, smothering her with a saccharine "What's wrong, Sweetie? Are you okay?" Then he always had to swoop in and "fix it," and he never relented until she smiled for him. She didn't hate his intentions, but he just didn't understand. Bouncing back from addiction had been easier for him, in part because he wasn't recovering for two, and in part because he still got to smoke. Never in front of her, of course, but she still knew. The evidence was all over their parking space and doorstep. She'd smelled it on his clothes, even tasted it in his kiss a few times.

Though it made her want to wash all his cigarettes down the garbage disposal and demand he get on the freaking patch already, she held her tongue. He was in recovery, too, and she had said she didn't mind the smoking. In all that had happened leading up to this point, she had still maintained the visage of the cool, passive Jane who had leased to him back in Albuquerque half a year ago. She was determined to hang onto that part of her as long as possible.

She opened the top right drawer of the bathroom sink—where she kept her makeup—and rummaged for a powder compact to conceal the detestable dark circles under her eyes. Towards the back of the drawer, like a scorpion poised to deliver its lethal sting, she found a familiar needle.

There was a punch to her gut, which erupted into butterflies in her stomach. How had they missed this? She thought they'd gotten rid of all the drugs when they were packing for rehab the morning after her positive pregnancy test. She froze in place, staring at the needle in shock and exhilaration for a moment.

"Yo, you coming?" Jesse called from the kitchenette. "That appointment is at ten, right?"

She slammed the drawer shut. "Coming," she called and swept out of the bathroom.

(***)

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?" Jesse asked Jane in the parking lot of the OB/GYN office, where they'd spent so much time by now that he practically had the waiting room magazines memorized. "This is kind of a big step. Didn't the doc say last time that today we could find out if it's a boy or girl? I mean, either way is cool, but—"

"Like you haven't had your fingers crossed," Jane noted. "You've been calling it a 'him' since Day One."

He blinked upon this realization. "I was?"

She nodded. "You've got better things to do today, anyway," she pointed out. "Lee brought up a good point last night. Even if your 'inheritance' is holding up well, you still should think about looking for a job, if only to get out of the house and get to know people in the town we live in."

Lee was the counselor who hosted their support group meetings. He had a long ash-blonde ponytail, a scruffy beard, and the stereotypical laid-back surfer dude appearance associated with California by the rest of the nation. Jesse wouldn't be surprised if Lee suspected "inheritance" didn't really mean "inheritance," but thankfully he adopted a "to each his own" policy with his group's personal lives.

"You're just agreeing with him to get rid of me, aren't you?" Jesse gave an exaggerated pout.

"That," Jane winked, "Or it could just be that we're not junkies anymore, so we may as well quit living like junkies."

There she had him. "Whoa, just think, though," he mused. "Me, with a real job that pays in checks for a change."

"You'll have to join the twenty-first century and open a bank account," she added. "Maybe even get this great new thing called a debit card."

"Worth a shot."

Jane glanced at her watch. "Well, about time for the next round of poking and prodding to commence." She pecked him on the cheek before getting out of the car, with a call of "Good look job-hunting!" over her shoulder as she made her way into the doctor's.

With her out of sight, Jesse yanked the driver's seat visor down. A pack of cigarettes tumbled into his lap from above the visor. He popped one between his lips and set it ablaze as he exited the parking lot, window rolled down and puffs of smoke venting out. There were apologies and guilt in every exhale. He knew he'd promised Jane he'd quit, and he knew he should. But she wasn't the only one on whom last few months had been hard.

There was no question he loved her. Jesse loved Jane with every breath of him. She was everything to him.

And that was exactly the problem: she was literally everything to him. She had been right about getting out of the house. Apart from the frequent OB/GYN checkups and support group meetings, they remained—on the whole—confined to a 750-square-foot apartment made up of a bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchenette. Even the checkups and meetings were mostly attended together. They quickly ran out of things to say to each other when "How was your day?" wasn't among them, and when "How's the baby?" yielded one-word responses.

Jane still only liked to talk about the baby to a certain extent. Jesse guessed it was because she wanted to feel like a person, and not just some cocoon for little humans.

He, by contrast, wished he could brag to everyone he knew that he was going to be a father. He could only imagine what his posse back in ABQ would say. Badger would fist-bump him and whoop, "Right on! 'Achievement Unlocked,' playa!" Skinny Pete would declare this an occasion for cigars, and call up a buddy who could hook them up with the good kind. In all the excitement, maybe the two wouldn't even ask why he hadn't spoken to them since Combo died.

He steered his mind away from Combo. That was one of those triggers he'd learned to avoid in rehab.

Instead, his thoughts landed on the one other person for whom he had lingering regrets: Mr. White. What would his old partner say to him now? Assuming he'd even speak to Jesse, after that whole blackmail stunt the latter had reluctantly agreed to. Sure, there'd be a first wave of the usual bullshit. "Did no one ever teach you the simple procedure of taking a condom out of its package? I shudder for the future of any spawn of yours. God knows you're no reliable source of homework help, and blah blah blah."

Jesse flicked the exhausted cigarette butt out the car window.

But then, sometimes, the old teacher did manage to offset the sea of judgment and criticisms with the odd droplet of encouragement. Maybe he'd go so far as to impart some of his own brand of supportive advice. Like, "If this doesn't straighten you out, nothing will. Just remember to keep the infant laying on the side in the crib."

Crib. They still had to buy one of those. Well, after Jane's appointment today, they'd know for sure whether to go with blue baby stuff or pink.

The hatchback came to a stop on a downtown LA street. Trying not to dwell on how familiar this situation was, he scanned the shops and businesses along the street for "Now Hiring" signs.