It was 4:00AM on the cold morning of January, 17th. One advantage of getting your orgasm in before 4:00 in the morning was how truly deeply you slept. This morning in particular, it had a lot of advantages. First, I fell immediately back to sleep and didn’t have to deal with Roger leaving for the airport. The last thing I needed to do was have some kind of emotional spazz before he left. Second, Roger could sleep, completely knocked out, in the backseat of the car that had come to the house to pick him up. The flight for the second, European leg of the Jazz tour was scheduled to leave Heathrow at 6:00AM. The first show would open in Germany with the conclusion being a three-night stint in Paris, France. The jet lag and physical drain would be far less demanding on this leg of the tour. The boys would return home on March 1st at which point I would be six months along and over half-way through my pregnancy.
As expected, the plane left Heathrow at 6:10AM. The sunrise had barely broken over the horizon as Roger watched the runway disappear behind them, the blinking light on the wing holding his attention as the plane climbed in elevation. It wouldn’t be a long flight, only a mere two hours.
“You haven’t hardly said a word all morning.” Brian said, shoving his newspaper into the pouch of the seat in front of him. Roger was chewing on his knuckle as he pulled his sunglasses off and laid them on the tray before him and shook his head.
“I just…I have a lot on my mind.” He answered, not truly making eye contact with Brian. The sound of the jet engines hummed, filling the silence between he and Brian. “We have…all this stuff at home...for…a baby. I…I don’t have a damn clue how to do this.” He confessed. Brian shrugged.
“You just…you learn it all as you go. It’s draining…exhausting at times. You’ll second guess yourself constantly and you’ll wonder how this life fits into the well being of a child. It’s…it’s frightening if you have a son because you’ll look at him and you’ll see yourself. That’s…that’s really scary to see yourself. It’s a strange and fearful bond that you’ll feel. It’s amazing because you know it’s your son and…and he’s exactly as you are. ” Brian shared.
“And…and what if it’s not a boy? What then? Do I just…do I never connect with it? What if I have a girl? How do I…how?” Roger asked with a serious look on his face. Brian shrugged.
“I have no idea. Except that I think it would be marvelous to have a daughter. I hope I have one someday. I don’t think there’s anything in this world that can match the innocence of a little baby girl.” Brian was far too poetic for Roger at 6:30 in the morning. All he really wanted was for Brian to give him the ‘how to’ guide for being a father. He should have known better because would never dream of stating the obvious.
At exactly 10:27 that day; I woke to a quiet, empty house. I respectfully got myself cleaned up and lingered in the bath because Roger's towel was still lying damp on the tile. His scent intermingled with his soap. I pulled it up from the floor and buried my nose in it. It smelled like his aftershave and his skin. It smelled like his hair and it was laced with the faint scent of Marlboros...maybe that's what I really enjoyed inhaling.
I swear, as soon as this baby was born; I was going to immediately smoke a cigarette. I was a little over 2 weeks into the 4th month of this pregnancy and Harriett Kinderwell would be arriving between noon and 1:00 today. Roger and I had arranged for a small moving van to follow her from Scotland with anything she may require for her long-term stay until Roger returned in March.
I had to admit that I was rather excited that someone would be around to keep me company and so I made certain the guest room was clean and uncluttered for Harriett's arrival. I had finally reached a point in the duration of this pregnancy that I could put actual clothes on without cringing or wanting to jump off a cliff.
