Veiled Affection

Chapter Forty

Because I haven't mentioned it for a while, and I suspect there might be a chance one might forget all about it, I was still pregnant.

I don't really bother writing anything about it, for this isn't that kind of story. These writings are about Cate; and now that I have reached the part which might be called 'highly pregnant stage', there would be little sense in describing the nausea, weariness, excessive toilet visits and overall sickness in the time that followed.

While a few pertinent point have to be marked, the general impression I desire to convey is of a woman who's stomach has grown terribly, and mixed emotions piling up to the already remarkable circumstances. And there is one moment which comes to mind whenever I think about my mutable feelings.

I have described how Cate dragged me all along the garden, showing me sight after sight; flower after flower. And it wasn't that day, or the day after, but sometime after that I cried in the kitchen. I was alone in the house and had been for a few days or so. It was evening, and I can't remember what pot had to fall out of my hand, or what part of my body had to bump into a corner, that the buildup had reached its peak and I became aware of the pain that I was in. Vastly physical and deeply emotional pain, all because of the baby that grew in me.

Low and behold, I had to go out that evening, too. Some stupid letter I had to stupidly post. If not then, it would arrive a week later - try to find some sense in that. It was raining, so I drove to the nearest post office and went back home. I was driving through the drizzle of the dying day, with the windshield wipers in full action but unable to cope with my tears.

I came home, I cried some more, I tried to write, I tried to read, I failed both. I retrieved to my bedroom not much later.

''I have been feeling low. Pregnant.''

''Are you okay?''

I was lying on my bed, feet propped up against the wall, watching the ceiling like an unmoving sky. I was on the phone, reaching across the distance, not for the first time, nor the last. Her voice spun towards me through the soft static and I tried to map its direction, imagining the soundwave drifting with me in the room.

''Can I be honest?''

''Always.''

''I am in pain.''

I heard her low exhale and I knew she understood. I wasn't in pain in the way a night of sleep would solve. The pain was deep, buried. I wasn't without joy, but the pain was much, often. I began to think I was alone in this, until she said: ''I know. I understand.''

''How did you cope?'' I asked.

''I ate. I cried. I tried to treat myself often. I tried to treat myself well. And I danced.''

''Tell me more about that.''

''The eating or the crying?''

We both laughed and I heard her rearrange herself, perhaps sitting up.

''I have always liked to move,'' She started. ''You used to catch me on the playground out-dancing everyone. It was my space, you know? I am making space and I am dancing into the space.''

''Dance with me sometime?''

I didn't hear anything for a moment. I imagined her smiling.

''Of course sweetheart.''

I took a deep sigh. So did she. I turned the phone on speaker and let my legs flop onto the bed. Resting my body on its side, both hands tucked underneath my head as if in prayer. Desiring peace. My breathing eased. I heard hers, too, both of us pushing and pulling, ebb and flow. Somewhere in the quiet rush, I heard a snore. I signed off quietly, hoping not to wake her.

''Are you okay?''

The same question, asked not a week later. She was with me again. We sat in the living room, and it was about the first thing that left her lips since she came in a few minutes ago.

''I am,'' I said, and I wasn't lying. But she and I understood well enough that it was because she was there, and that otherwise I wasn't okay.

''You look good.'' She said.

I must note that, during my pregnancy, I began to feel less and less pretty. Instead I felt bloated and sweltering most of the time. Cate had this way of telling me there wasn't any need for me to think such things. I couldn't help but smile every time she dropped a comment like the one above. I couldn't help but smile this time as well.

''Stop it.'' I said.

''You have a certain glow that I heard is all the rage right now.''

''It is sweat.''

''Now you stop,'' She said. ''Accept a compliment, will you?''

I smiled and stretched myself out.

''Care for some wine?'' I asked.

''Please,''

I was about to get up - struggle to get up, rather - when she stood up herself.

''You stay seated. I will pour one myself.''

''Please do not pity the pregnant lady. I can get up and move all right.''

''I am not pitying you,'' She poured the wine from the bottle into a glass. ''Rather the pity was aimed at me, having to wait a minute or two for a glass in my hand.''

I smiled and shook my head. ''You are unbelievable.''

''Thank you,'' She moved the glass to her lips and took a sip. ''See? Accepting a compliment.''

We did dance that evening - our compromise on the phone put in action. It was a special moment. Special like so many moments have felt, this one just piling up with the rest of the bunch. Let me set the scene:

There Cate and I were in the living room. I sat on the couch. She stood by the window, looking out.

''Do you want to go?''

She turned to me and smiled. ''Desperately.''

I smiled as well and she looked back outside.

''What do you see?'' I asked after a moment.

''The moon,'' She said. ''The stars.''

''What do you read in them?''

She walked over to grab the wine bottle. ''I am going to need another drink to cypher that out.''

She poured herself some more wine, then walked back to the window. There was a moment of silence as she looked out of the window once more and I, with gleaming eyes, looked at her.

''I want to take a picture,'' I then said.

''What of?'' She took a sip of her drink.

''You.''

''Me?'' She swallowed and coughed. ''What for?''

I stood up (bear with me, again with difficulty) and walked over to one of the room's cupboards, conjuring up a camera.

''Has that always been there?'' She asked when I walked over to her. I smiled, gave her a kiss on the cheek.

''Yes,'' I said. I took a step back, centering myself before the window. She curled her long frame up on the windowsill, holding her wineglass. I took a picture, and one more, and she took the camera from me, placed it on the side, as well as her drink. She took my hand instead. The warmth of her hand in mine, her thumb at work. She blinked, slowly, just before her lips stretched into a smile. She pulled me closer. She swayed a little, and I realized she was leading me in a dance. Count Basie's, Lil' Darlin' gingerly playing in the background, determining our pace. The bassline slow enough that it didn't feel like a rush. Slow enough to gaze into her eyes as she pressed closer, moving in an easy, measured rhythm.

That moment with her - it was about the last moment of calmness and tranquility for a while, as the next day she came to me with her proposition.