Friday, July 22, 2022- 28 weeks
After being canceled for the past two years due to the pandemic, we're back at Comic-Con. Being crammed into a hotel room with my closest friends used to be the highlight of my year. I'm indifferent this year. Waiting in line for the panels has been torturous; the convention floor is too crowded for my liking. The thought has crossed my mind more than once since arriving Wednesday evening that I don't want to be here. I pull my phone from my pocket, checking the lock screen for notifications. Finding none, I tap in my passcode to unlock the device. No missed calls or messages. I sigh and click the button on the side to turn the screen off again. "She's at work," Howard's voice pulls me from my thoughts.
"What? I wasn't."
I'm cut off by Leonard, "You talked to Amy last night for over an hour. You talked to her this morning and again while she was having lunch. She's fine. If she wasn't, you would know." Before I can interject, my phone is snatched from my hand. "You can have this back after this panel. I'll give it to you if she calls, which she won't because she's at work for another three hours."
I stare at my now empty hand. Flexing my fingers, I shove my hand into my pocket. This is the longest Amy and I have been apart in years. I always thought Leonard was ridiculous for how co-dependent he could be at times, yet here I am.
Saturday, July 23, 2022- 28 weeks
"Everything is fine, but I'm going home. There's a train back to Los Angeles in an hour. I'll let you know when I get home." I text Leonard half an hour before he, Wolowitz, and Koothrappali will be waking up for the third day of Comic-Con. After a sleepless night, tossing and turning next to Leonard, I decide to pack my suitcase and return home. The Uber driver to the train station is awfully chatty for four-thirty in the morning. I pop in my earbuds and hope she gets the hint that I'm not interested in talking.
The train is mostly empty, given the early hour. I step onto the train platform just before nine and call for another Uber. "Thank you," I tell the driver, stepping out of the car at the end of the driveway. Walking up the driveway, a feeling of giddiness washes over me. I didn't tell Amy I was coming home early. There's a chance she'll still be in bed when I walk through that door. She's always been one to sleep in whenever possible and has grown to love her sleep even more over the past seven months.
I unlock the front door and step inside as quietly as I can. Leaving my suitcase near the door, I begin checking the house for my wife. The living room and kitchen are empty, but the coffee pot still has coffee in it. I assume that means Amy is already awake and has made her one cup of coffee for the morning. She might have taken her coffee back to bed; she does that sometimes: she'll make her coffee and return to bed to spend the morning reading or scrolling her social media. I'm halfway to our room when I notice the door next to the master bedroom is open with a warm light spilling into the hallway. "Amy?" I stop in the doorway at the sight of my wife sitting in the rocking chair in our son's room, a children's book in her left hand while her right traces patterns over her stomach.
"Sheldon? What are you doing home? Did something happen at Comic-Con?" She places the book on top of the bookshelf next to her and slowly rises from the chair.
Taking a few steps into the room, I meet her in the center of the room. "Nothing happened; I just wanted to come home. I missed you." Amy closes the space between us and slips her left arm around me, tucking herself into my side. I rest my hand on her stomach.
"You're sure you're not going to regret leaving early? You've been talking about Comic-Con for months. I could drive you back down there if you want."
I was on a train for three hours this morning. I'm not going to make Amy drive over two hours to take me back to Comic-Con because I missed her. "That's not necessary. I'm sure of my decision. I thought we could go through some of the baby shower presents and decide what we want to keep or return. We could work on organizing the nursery a bit more. Speaking of which, what were you doing in here?"
Amy motions at the book resting atop the shelf beside the rocking chair, along with a coffee mug. "I was reading to our son. That wasn't my plan; I'd gotten my coffee and was taking it back to bed to work on my computer when I wandered in here. I thought I'd look at some of the books we got at the shower and started reading them aloud." She drops her arm from around my back and reaches for her coffee. "Let me get dressed and we can go through the shower gifts. The big box from the Texas shower arrived Wednesday after you left. It's in the living room."
"You didn't carry it inside, did you? You know you're not supposed to be lifting anything heavy."
"No. The girls brought the kids over for dinner Wednesday. Penny hauled it off the porch for me. She offered to bring it in here; I told her it was fine in the living room. I know we're not showing our friends the nursery so they don't figure out we're having a boy."
This woman thinks of everything. "I'll bring the box in here while you get dressed."
