Sweet Little Thing

  “I can’t get out of my contract.” Chad finally spoke. His voice was shaky.

  “There are other things we can do.” Frank turned to me. “Remember the time you said you wanted people to be in awe while you performed, not because of the pyrotechnics going off on stage but because they connected to the music?” When I nodded, he said, “I have a suggestion.”

  I was getting worried about where the conversation was going.

  “This is totally off the record.” Frank leaned in farther. “Your auntie did a few good things for you, kid.” Chad’s face lightened and Frank said, “There is nothing in this contract that says you can’t start performing these songs. That’s the first good thing she did, the second was that she insisted you stick with Will.” He turned to me. “How much does this mean to you?”

  “Me? Not very much, if I’m being honest, Frank. I’ll get my money no matter what happens to Chad.”

  Chad and Michael remained quiet while Frank slowly shook his head back and forth with a look of pure disappointment on his face.

  “I have a baby on the way,” I pleaded.

  “You really just want to give up on Chad and roll over for these dummies?”

  “I don’t even know what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m suggesting that Michael and Chad go back to the label and tell them that pushing the release is fine. Tell them they’ll get their ballad and hit. Meanwhile, Chad will start performing up and down the East Coast as part of the Will Ryan Band. You can promote yourselves online and gather a following. People will get to know Chad and get to know the way ‘Soldier’ was written. That song could be an anthem, it has a hook, but the label is right—it’s not commercial, it’s original.”

  “I can’t leave Mia and go on the road while she’s pregnant.”

  “Hold on a minute, Frank.” Michael finally found his voice. “Are you saying that we leave the album as is and that Chad starts performing the songs under a different name?”

  “Legally, we can make it happen. Will, get Mia down here. I’m not suggesting you leave her. We need her. I’m suggesting you both go.”

  “I don’t think she’ll be into it,” I said.

  “Let’s see what she has to say.” He motioned for me to pick up the phone and call her.

  I grabbed my cell phone and texted her: ARE YOU BUSY?

  JUST TAKING THIS PHOTO TO SAY THANK YOU. She sent me a photo of her naked from the waist up, wearing all my Post-it notes like a bikini top.

  I replied, I LOVE IT! CAN YOU GET DOWN HERE? WE NEED YOU. PUT ON A SHIRT FIRST.

  Everyone filled their coffee mugs and waited for Mia to come down. When she came in, she smiled and said hello and then took a seat at the table. Frank, in his typical fast-talking fashion, basically laid down the whole situation for Mia. At the end of a very long speech, he said, “What do you think, sweetheart?”

  She looked at me first. I didn’t give her any indication of how I was feeling. The truth was that it sounded interesting to me. We could do some live shows together and then during the week go back into the studio and work.

  “Come May, I won’t want to go too far from home.”

  I nodded. Her voice seemed small. She was looking for my approval, but I wanted her opinion.

  “What do you think of Chad?” I asked her.

  “I think he’s a great singer,” she said immediately. “I think the music we wrote for him gives him way more credibility. I can teach him how to get by on the piano. I wouldn’t want to see the label turn him into a brand so quickly either.”

  “So you’ll do it?” Frank said.

  “Yes.”

  He stood up and placed his fedora on his head and said, “I’ll get you guys some bookings. Will, you need to find a drummer.”

  He left the room and it seemed all problems were solved.

  “So, I guess this means we’re a band,” Chad said with a goofy grin.

  We had our work cut out for us.

  Mia continued going to the birthing-method classes with Jenny while I worked with Chad in the studio, preparing for the upcoming shows Frank had booked for us. We had to keep things quiet with the label, so I had to find people I trusted. I hired Dustin, a drummer from the band I used to be in. I hadn’t talked to him for a long time after he hopped in bed with my then-girlfriend, Audrey. I got over it quickly, though, when it occurred to me that she had fucked him right back. I never had to worry about stuff like that with Mia. Anyway, Dustin hated the record labels, so he posed no real threat. He was on board for the shows in a heartbeat.

  We played around town mostly and Boston a lot, anywhere with a music scene that was in driving distance. Mia enjoyed the shows even though her growing belly was making playing more and more uncomfortable. Chad sang well; he had a good stage presence. I noticed within a few weeks people started coming up to us at the end of the shows. We had a pretty decent following for our tiny tour. As time went on, we noticed that when we played the song “Soldier,” which had a very catchy and loud chorus, the crowds would sing along to it. We’d played about three shows a week for five weeks before the label caught wind of our little plan.

  They couldn’t technically put a stop to it, but they moved Chad’s release date up. They wanted to get the single for “Soldier” out before bootlegged copies from our shows were floating all over the Internet. Frank’s plan had worked. Chad had his own original sound, thanks to us. I made peace with giving him the music, and by the end of the five weeks, I actually liked the kid. He was a quick study. Mia taught him some basics on the piano, and by the end of our shows, he was coming up with new music.

  We all parted ways amicably. Frank moved on to look for the next big thing. I went to work with new musicians in the studio, and Mia went back to her obsession with being pregnant.

  “I’m as big as a house,” she said one night into the mirror above our dresser as she examined her naked body from every angle.

  I watched her from the bed where I was propped against the headboard. I looked down at my own stomach and noticed it was a bit harder to see those ripples Tyler had so blatantly observed. I might have put on a few pregnancy pounds myself.

  You couldn’t tell Mia was pregnant from behind—she still had a perfect little ass—but man, when she turned, watch out. Once she reached thirty weeks into the pregnancy, her belly stuck out at least two feet from her body.

  “You’re not big, you’re beautiful.”

  “I’m a cow. I’ll never be sexy again.”

  “Turn around, Mia, so you can see just how sexy I think you are.”

  Mia’s boobs and belly had gotten huge, but she was just as beautiful as before, if not more. Her skin was shiny and vibrant and pink and lush. As she turned, I quickly slipped out of my boxers and threw them aside.

  She scanned my body up and down and then her face morphed into the pity-party face. “Are you thinking about someone else?” She actually started crying.

  Fuck. “In the name of all that is good and holy, Mia, you are standing in front of me naked. I’m turned on because of you.”

  “How can you want me like this?” She sniffled.

  “Come on, stop that.” I motioned for her to get on top of me. “Climb aboard, baby, let’s have some fun.”

  She brushed her hair out of her face and climbed up onto the bed. She straddled me and then bent to kiss me, but I could tell it was uncomfortable for her to bend over her belly. Leaning back with a sad look on her face, she took hold of me and then sat up on her knees to guide me inside her. I felt a tear hit my stomach. She was still crying.

  “No, stop, baby. Don’t do that.” I pulled her onto the bed next to me. “Lie on your side so you’re comfortable, sweet thing.” I climbed over her and looked at her face. “You gonna be okay?”

  She nodded unconvincingly, but I proceeded to kiss her all over anyway. I kissed her belly and sang to her and sang to my baby. Ray LaMontagne’s “Shelter” was blaring from the iPod dock. I sang along to it like I had written it
just for her. After ten minutes, Mia started moving with me, kissing me and answering each touch.

  I curled up behind her and pulled her leg back over mine and then I made love to her on her side. I kissed and sucked at her neck. She whimpered.

  “Do you see how beautiful you are to me?” I said near her ear. Pushing her head back against my shoulder, I watched as she opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and found that happy place. I held her against my chest, one arm gripping her leg and the other holding her around the shoulders as I continued my slow and deliberate movements against her. The tension in her body was gone. We moved with ease and comfort until we were both sated, and then I kissed her shoulders and back as the rest of the album played out. We stayed like that, connected, with my face buried in her sweet-smelling hair until we were asleep.

  “Good morning, handsome.” Mia, fully dressed and ready for the day, was leaning over me and smiling.

  I squinted up at her. “Hi, pretty baby.”

  “Do you want to come to my prenatal appointment with me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Even though I generally despised being in any sort of medical building, I loved going to the prenatal visits. It was like Christmas when the doctor would put the fetal Doppler to Mia’s belly. The swooshing and thumping of our baby’s heartbeat was the most beautiful music Mia and I had made so far.

  We got out of the loft early. Mia had on a gray baby-doll dress, black tights, boots, and a purple scarf. I wore my token hoodie and jeans. It was warming up in the city, and we both marveled at how clear and sunny the sky was.

  When we got to Dr. Cho’s, Mia had to do all the initial business: pee test, blood pressure, temperature, and then we were directed into the exam room. Mia undressed from the waist down, hopped up on the table, and covered herself with one of those paper blankets.

  The doctor came in, flashed me a cursory smile, and said, “Mr. Ryan.”

  “Dr. Cho,” I shot back in a completely monotone voice. You know those people who show zero emotion—there’s no movement in their face or inflection in their voice? That was Dr. Cho. Saying she was robotic would be putting it mildly. She was like a robot from the eighties, completely one-dimensional and glitchy.

  She lifted Mia’s shirt and wrapped the measuring tape around her belly. After measuring her, Dr. Cho pressed one hand at the base of Mia’s belly and the other on the top, just below her breasts.

  “Hmm,” she said, but nothing changed on her face. She didn’t move for several moments. Ha, another glitch.

  “Hello?” I said.

  She didn’t look at me; her eyes stayed focused on Mia’s stomach. “Mia, I think we need to do an ultrasound.”

  There was still no change in her facial expression, but I knew hidden behind her statement was worry, and I could see the worry spreading to Mia as well.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Once she was out of the room, Mia let out a huge breath and then her nose scrunched into the expression she makes right before she cries.

  I got about five inches from her face and said, “What did she mean, Mia?” My voice was high.

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking anxious. I stood and started pacing. The walls were closing in. I put my hand to my head; I was burning up. I walked to the counter and started fumbling frantically through all the medical devices.

  “What are you doing, Will? You’re not supposed to touch that stuff.”

  “I have to take my temperature. Mia, this is bad news, don’t you see?” I found the electronic thermometer. I placed one of those disposable plastic thingies over it and shoved the probe under my tongue.

  Mia stayed on the table and glared at me. “Calm down!” She tried to whisper but it came out in a low, deep mumble. She sounded like Satan.

  I started getting dizzy. The thermometer beeped. My temp was ninety-nine point zero degrees. I had a fever. When I went to dispose of the plastic sheathing, the toxic-waste receptacle wouldn’t open from the foot pedal. I had to use my hand. God, why me? The room began spinning and suddenly all the germs that had ever been exposed in that environment became visible as tiny floating specks on the walls. In my head I was chanting hepatitis, rotavirus, tetanus, psittacosis, influenza, salmonella, cholera, botulism, anthrax.

  “I have to get out of here,” I whispered, out of breath.

  As soon as I turned around, robot doctor was in my face. “Sit down, Mr. Ryan. Everything is going to be fine.” She was wheeling in the ultrasound machine.

  I sat back in a chair and tried to calm my breathing. I looked at Mia; she was shaking her head at me. It wasn’t disappointment on her face—it was anger. Her eyes got smaller and beady and then she growled. I’m not exaggerating; she actually fucking growled at me.

  Her entire stomach moved; something jutted out from one side, pressing against the inside of her belly like a giant alien baby trying to get out. Mia was saying something but I couldn’t hear her, I could only see her mouth moving in slow motion.

  I blinked, trying desperately to clear my vision. Dr. Cho began squirting the clear gel on Mia’s stomach. My head felt heavy as I started to sway back and forth. A black haze began filling my vision from the outside in. Mia looked at the doctor and pointed to the tongue depressors on the counter. Dr. Cho handed her one, and then Mia’s chin jutted out, and she flicked her arm back and threw the damn thing right at my face. It hit my nose with a thwack and fell to the floor. Suddenly all my senses were back.

  “Breathe!” she yelled.

  I gasped for air; my eyes were about to pop out of my head. You would have thought I had just run a marathon by the way I was breathing. I finally calmed and stood up on shaky legs. Dr. Cho still had no expression on her face even though I’d nearly passed out in front of her.

  Mia was looking at the monitor. The ultrasound machine was on and squiggly lines were dancing across the screen. Moving sluggishly toward the exam table, I took her hand in mine and began to rub the back of it. We both watched in awe as our baby appeared before our eyes.

  When Mia finally looked back at me, I mouthed, “I’m sorry,” but she wasn’t angry anymore, she was touched.

  Dr. Cho moved the ultrasound transducer across Mia’s belly and then pointed to the screen. “See here.” When we both nodded enthusiastically, she said, “He’s still breech. That’s his head at the top.”

  “He?” Mia and I said in unison.

  That has to be the biggest rookie mistake. Blowing it for the first-time parents who want the sex of their child to be a surprise should be illegal. Doctors and technicians should be fined for that. Yeah, I know doctors are only human, but I’m only human too and I was fined for public intoxication. I didn’t hurt anybody; I didn’t spoil one of the only true surprises in life for two excited parents just starting out. I’d entertained people on the corner that night, but still I was arrested and fined.

  Dr. Cho looked pale with a greenish tint. Robot doctor finally turned human. That’s what it takes sometimes, a brutally humbling experience. She placed her hand over her mouth as her eyes grew wider with shock.

  I guess fining her would be a little extreme. I had a feeling it would be the first and last time she’d burn the turkey.

  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured through her cupped hand.

  I shook my head at her. Mia’s was turned away from me, still gazing at the monitor. I leaned over and noticed that she was crying.

  She looked up me and smiled. “I want to name him Allen,” she squeaked as tears dripped from her chin.

  I bent and kissed her and then goddammit, I started crying too. “Yes, baby, we can name him Allen.”

  That was Mia’s late father’s name. Allen Kelly was a guy I wished I’d known. Every time I was at the café Mia had inherited from him, someone would bring up his name. He was admired in the neighborhood and greatly missed. Known as a truly free spirit who had done right by the people he loved, Allen’s memory would live on in our son. I said the words “our son” to m
yself as I watched him suck his thumb, cozy and safe inside Mia’s belly.

  “So his head is up still?” Mia asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Cho replied simply.

  “What does that mean?” I said.

  “I don’t deliver breech babies vaginally. It means that Mia will have to have a C-section or find another doctor.”

  Mia’s stare was determined. “What about an ECV?” she said as if she were a medical doctor herself.

  “What’s an ECV? That sounds dangerous!”

  “It’s a procedure to turn the baby and it sounds dangerous because it is. There is a much higher risk with that than scheduling a C-section.”

  “I don’t want a C-section.” Mia looked so shattered. “Is there any way he’ll turn on his own?”

  Dr. Cho’s face was sympathetic, something I didn’t think was possible. “It’s unlikely at this stage. My recommendation is to go ahead and schedule your cesarean section for the thirty-eighth week. You’ll be full term and the baby won’t likely come before then. I’m very sorry,” she said and then left the room.

  Mia put her tights and boots back on without looking at me. She was quiet, inside her head.

  “Talk to me.” I said.

  She looked up, right into my eyes, and then lost it. She moved toward me quickly and buried her head in my chest. I wrapped my arms around her as she began releasing heavy sobs.

  I rubbed her back and tried to soothe her. “Shh, baby. Everything is going to be okay. It doesn’t matter how that baby gets to us. We should be happy he’s okay.”