Temporary Secretary

Part 71

4 November 1981

Wednesday

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Your due date had come and gone.

It was marked as the second of November. It was now the fourth.

You knew the timeline wasn't perfectly accurate, the weeks leading up to it you had been on edge, thinking it could come any moment. You were expecting it in October.

Better early than late. Rip the plaster off.

The day of, you had been especially nervous. You didn't plan anything, just wait for the inevitable to come. That would negate any plans anyway.

The night before you had been up late, wandering the nursery and worrying. You'd fallen asleep late, not very restfully, finally awaking at ten the next morning.

You were very afraid, knowing what day it was, expecting it to come at any moment. As if it'd hit you like a shovel.

You didn't get out of bed, eyes wide open, not willing to accept the fact that today was the day. If you laid there, perfectly still, your body wouldn't know you were awake. As if that would make labor not happen.

Paul had woken up before you. He was off this week, anticipating the birth to come soon, or shortly before.

He was beside you when you woke up, pleasant, watchful. He didn't need to say anything for you to know the reason he was leering. You couldn't help but feel some resentment at his excitement and anticipation, but you didn't give him any grief. Let him be excited, you were fortunate he'd wanted this baby to begin with.

He didn't say anything, but you didn't either, just staring. Pretending it wasn't light out already.

He'd gotten up minutes after that, frying eggs in the kitchen. He called out, asking if you wanted any.

You were laid perfectly still in bed. Your lips moved, making a croaky sound, before finding your voice again, calling out "no thank you."

You knew that if you ate anything in labor, your body would forcibly eject it. It wasn't pretty, but you didn't want to vomit if you could help it.

Regardless, Paul came back in with a plate, setting it on your bedside table. It was fried eggs and cherry tomatoes. You hadn't changed position since he left.

He looked down at you in thought, lips parted.

"You've got to eat something, love." He said. "You'll need your strength."

You stared at him.

He sat beside you, cloying.

He attempted to raise your spirits, his pretty hand stroking your shoulder.

"I don't see why you're so neurotic about this." He said, features firm. "It's what your body was made to do."

That was the line he kept repeating. You weren't glaring at him or anything, but felt a cognitive dissonance. Detached from the present moment, lying perfectly still, spacing out until the inevitable came.

He leant down, kissing your cheek, being "cute" again.

"I can sit with you, if you'd like." He said.

You couldn't even take note of his prettiness in the state you were.

You cleared your throat, using him to pull yourself to sit upright, your eyes lidded.

You'd spent an hour being neurotic. Nothing was happening. You might as well eat something, your hunger beginning to nag at you.

He watched, pleasant, as you ate your eggs. They had gone a little cold, but cold eggs were just fine.