Page 71 of Saint
“Your period.”
“No. I bled this month. It was just–”
“Light enough for me to be inside you a day later,” Saint spoke absently. He’d been keeping better track of my cycles than I had, apparently. As I scanned the large tent, observing the people in closest proximity to our hearts, I felt his rounds scanning me. The brush of his fingers against my ear drew my attention back to him.
“You know, before I fell in love with you, I couldn’t imagine having children. How would I be any good to them when I hardly understood myself? It was a question I never needed to answer because the possibility was far removed from anything centering me.”
The stream of air as I exhaled registered how long I’d been holding my breath. Of course, I wanted kids. At least two. A boy and a girl would be ideal. My sole concern was the timing. It was so off-base. Maybe in another year or two, but now? Just as things had begun to take flight with my career? A child would only slow me down.
Not that there was anything wrong with slowing down. I was simply comfortable with the life I had. I was successful, I was married, and a child was honestly the only thing missing from the equation. Hell, I probably needed to slow down. Demure was my first child, and it depleted me frequently. There were undoubtedly fears about venturing into parenthood, but nothing that couldn’t be resolved in time.
“And what about now?” I asked, deflecting from my thoughts, competing for dominance.
“Things are different now,” Saint spoke, steering us to the king and queen table.
“How so?” I asked, feeling slightly winded. The few steps we’d taken moving around the tent after dancing left me breathless. Maybe I was pregnant. Saint ushered me into my seat right on time.
Raking his fingers through his beard and palming his head, he looked to be in deep thought. Over the months we’d shared, I realized the paired actions were yet another way he settled his nerves.
“The question is different now. Something along the lines of ‘Will they end up like me?’”
“What do you mean by end up like you, Saint?”
“You know… Autistic.”
The massive vessel in my chest splintered as I realized what he was saying. His biggest fear about starting a family stemmed from his concerns about how his child might see and navigate the world.
“If they’re anything like you, they’d be absolutely perfect,” I countered.
“And what if they’re not like me, Beauty? What if they’re nonverbal or require more than the average child? What if they can’t lead an independent life? Did you consider that? The strain it might be on us both?”
“No. I mean, we are getting a bit ahead of ourselves. I haven’t taken a test yet–”
“Victoria, you’re pregnant. Pee on your little stick or whatever, but I’m certain pregnancy is what has you so depleted these days. That dolphin we saw on our last dive confirmed it for me. I was reluctant to accept it, but dolphins don’t lie.”
My Doctor Dolittle of the ocean. He was a walking encyclopedia on marine life, and I thought it was the coolest thing ever.
The weather had been uncharacteristically warm for the season, permitting us to go on dives much more frequently together despite us heading into winter. There was a strange interaction with a dolphin on that last dive. They made peculiar noises near my stomach on approach. I just thought they were being playful.
“If we’re pregnant, we’ll deal with what comes, just as we’ve been doing. And I’ll love our baby, irrespective of how unique they are. The baby will be fine regardless of where it may or may not land on the spectrum,” I encouraged. “Things aren’t the way they used to be when we were growing up, babe. They’ll have a pair of parents perfectly equipped to provide them what they need with patience, compassion, and understanding.”
“I love you, Victoria Iman.”
“I love you, Saint Tyrone.”
“Every day, you remind me why I stay married to you, Beauty.”
“As I do you,” I vowed, cupping his chin. “Now, let’s get through this night and get these people out of here so we can return to what’s important.”
“What’s that?” He asked.
“Cumming,” I smirked.
Saint
The Miller Community and Recreational Center was teeming with souls, young and old, as I parsed through the space. With one noise-canceling earbud planted in my ear and the other free of any obstruction, I nodded at those who managed to acknowledge my presence.
Victoria was stationed at the opposing end of the entrance, dressed like a hipster with a cropped anime sweater and loose-fitting wide-leg jeans that hung from her waist. The once tiny midriff occupied a growing little one. Her belly was on display for everyone to bear witness. In a trance-like state as I observed her, I barely noticed my father standing near me.