I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.
Wherever You Are
This Whole Pregnancy Thing
So it was June.
And Annabel Margaret Walker was. . .
"You want some chili?"
"No. I'm good. Enjoy."
. . . pregnant.
And, to be honest, it really wasn't that . . .
"You want some pizza?"
"No. Thanks."
. . . bad.
She'd heard morning sickness was a real bitch.
"Do you want some granola?"
"No, thanks."
But she really didn't have any.
"Want the last peach?"
"You can have it."
She just didn't want food.
It didn't make her sick.
She never threw up.
She just . . .
"Um, you're not eating much. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
. . . didn't have an appetite.
"Do you think you should, uh, eat, something?"
No.
"Yeah, I guess. Um . . . how about . . . a bowl of plain oatmeal."
Confused Patrick Pause.
"No cinnamon?"
"No."
"No butter?"
"No."
"No fruit?"
"No."
"No . . . anything?"
"No."
"Um, okay."
So she was actually . . .
"Annabel?"
"Hmmm?"
. . . doing okay.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
Mostly.
"Because you're asleep."
"Yeah."
Even though . . .
"You were just talking."
"Yeah."
. . . she did feel . . .
"We were having a full conversation. About the Culture Club."
"Yeah."
. . . a little tired . . .
"And the Eurythmics."
"Uh huh."
. . . from time to time.
"And we're at the coffeehouse."
"Oh."
Usually at the most inopportune . . .
"Do you want to go home now?"
Uhh . . .
. . . moments.
"Yeah."
So she might admit she was . . .
". . . could have the fourth off next month and go to the fireworks together."
"Hmmm . . ."
. . . a little tired.
And by a little, she really meant a lot.
Why is it so hard . . .
"Annabel?"
"What?"
. . . to grow . . .
"Do you want to go back to bed?"
. . . something so small?
"Yeah."
And by a lot, she mean practically . . .
"You know what? I think I'll just . . . sleep here . . . awhile . . ."
"Uh, okay."
. . . comatose . . .
"I'll get you a blanket."
"Hmmm . . ."
. . . at times.
Except when she wasn't.
"Annabel?"
"Yeah?"
"Where are we going to put the baby?"
Oh.
"Uh . . ."
In the . . . No.
Over by the . . .
No.
Next to the . . .
No.
Attempt at a grin.
"In the sink?"
Which led to the next line of thinking.
"So I guess we have to move again, huh?"
The words felt heavier than they should have.
But I like it there! God, this stupid baby is causing more problems than it's-
Patrick shrugged and smiled.
"Well, it doesn't matter where we are as long as we're together."
Oh.
Then he kissed her gentle and sweet.
And she decided not to complain.
The problem was . . .
"Patrick?"
"Yeah?"
"You know I'm currently sitting on your penis, right?"
. . . that's kind of all he wanted to do.
Blisteringly red-earred nod.
"Yeah. I mean with clothes-"
"And I know he knows I'm here. I can tell."
"Yeah."
"So, uh, why aren't you, you know-"
She wiggled a little, just to drive him crazier.
Which it did not.
Instead, he worked his jaw a little.
"I, uh-"
"Don't you want to?"
"Yeah. I just-"
"Because he does."
"Yeah."
"And I'm finally feeling better."
"Yeah."
"So . . ."
Another playful wiggle.
"I don't want to hurt the baby."
Annabel sighed.
Ah yes, the baby. Always the baby.
But she tried to be nice.
"You won't hurt it, Patrick. I don't think you can. I mean, it's only like . . ."
Thumb and forefinger just about almost touching.
". . . that big. So it's okay."
Patrick seemed to want to believe.
"I know. I just . . . I just don't want anything to happen to it. Or you."
Oh.
Annabel was appreciative, grateful for his care and concern.
And she also knew . . .
"Okay."
. . . she wasn't getting any anytime soon.
Party pooper.
Unmounting of the man.
"Well, what do we do now?"
Reseating beside, instead of on top of.
"We could go out for ice cream."
Annabel shrug.
"Okay. But ice cream is a sorry substitute for sex."
Patrick Pause.
"It's not that sorry."
Annabel eyebrow.
"Yes, it is."
Frown.
"Sorry."
Headshake.
"Nope."
Pauseful consideration.
"Uh, thanks?"
Accepting smile.
"There ya go."
"When are you going to tell your parents?"
Oh.
Shit.
"You mean about us getting married?"
Patrick Pause.
"No. About having a baby."
Oh. That.
Annabel drew a deep breath . . .
Errr, can I fake morning sickness at three in the afternoon?
. . . and let it out.
"No."
Patrick Pause.
"Are you worried they'll be mad?"
Annabel huff of derision.
"No. They don't really get to be judgmental people, you know?"
Patrick smiled a little.
"No. I guess not."
Pausing pause.
"Are you . . . embarrassed? . . . of the baby? . . . Or me?"
Oh baby, shit-
"No, Patrick, never!"
I just . . . I just . . .
"I guess I've just been avoiding it altogether."
It was true.
She hadn't told anybody anything.
Except Scruffy Sam, of course.
"So you ready for a baby to land on us, Scruffy Sam?"
Head lift-tilt, bright beady eyes scrutinizing.
"Yeah, me neither."
Head tilt to the other side, tiniest little puppers whine.
"Don't tell Patrick though, okay? It'll just be our little secret."
Quiet chuff.
"Thanks, buddy."
But other than that, nada.
Not about the pregnancy . . .
"Hey, Annabel, how's it hangin'?"
"All fun in the sun, honey bun-bun."
. . . or even their recent promise to wed.
"Whatcha got going on, Annabel?"
"Scarfin' this bagel, Nemo. How 'bout you?"
Nothing.
Mainly because she just didn't know what to think, how to feel.
What to say.
". . . spin you for?"
"Hey sexy, thanks for the tune, how 'bout get down and dirty in the grass later?"
"Sounds fantastic, sweetie, but I've already been knocked up once this week and that's my quota."
How to act.
"Excuse me, miss, but do you have a moment to talk about term life insurance?"
"No. I'm too busying making eyeballs in my uterus right now. Call back later."
And now she realized, she was ignoring the whole thing . . .
"Merry Christmas, Moms, Daddy. This is my child, she's fifteen now and I thought it was time for you to know I'm having a baby."
"Well, hello, grandchild, nice to meet you."
"Thank you. Grandma.
. . . and that was just making things worse.
"Hi, Moms!"
"Annabel!"
"Darling, how are you?"
"I'm good. So, um, listen . . ."
I almost didn't post such a conflicted chapter on impending motherhood. On Mother's Day.
But it's realistic. For some of us anyway.
And, speaking of realistic, this was me, all three pregnancies. No morning sickness. Just meh on the food.
Until I wanted all the food.
And then, oooh, boy. Fooood.
Anyway, thanks to brigid1318, midnightrebellion86, and autumnrose2010 for your encouraging reviews previously. :)
