The Way We Feel

Chapter 33

"Excuse me," I said, a bit more loudly this time. But the man standing at the top of the stairs leading out of the subway still didn't move. So I was forced to cut someone off on the other side of the stairs, stopping the steady stream on that side for a brief moment, but I still heard the person behind me huff their annoyance.

So I sent a dirty look at the man who had held me up in the first place, and rolled my eyes when it was apparent he hadn't even noticed.

Maybe something was wrong, a small voice whispered in the back of my mind. He seemed older, maybe he couldn't hear. Or maybe he didn't understand English.

That voice begged me to be sympathetic as I reached the sidewalk, annoyed that I was running late and that he'd just held me up a few seconds more—it begged me to think about all the other possibilities other than the one my mind kept returning to:

He was just an asshole.

But today, I liked that particular explanation. It satisfied the seemingly endless frustration I'd woken up with this morning. I'd been irritated from the second I opened my eyes, feeling like I hadn't slept a wink. Irritated because I could really use a cup of coffee, but I'd been really good about not having coffee throughout the pregnancy, and I was annoyed by how badly I wanted some.

I'd done my research. I knew that there was conflicting evidence about the effect of coffee on pregnancy. I knew that most of it came to one conclusion—the more you drank, the more likely it was that you might suffer a miscarriage. But from what I'd read, that was only relevant to the very early stages, and I was about twenty weeks along. Still, I'd cut coffee out of my life at the start of this pregnancy, fearful of doing anything that might harm the baby, and I was still fearful.

But this morning... I figured one cup wouldn't hurt.

And then I was annoyed with myself for giving in.

The frustrated, irritated, exhausted feelings followed me all the way to work, all the way through class. At one point, I'd snapped at a student to put their phone away with a tone I didn't normally use, and I could tell that I'd surprised the other students—their wide eyes and glances toward each other told me as much—but I couldn't find it in me to care.

It was rude, and he deserved it.

Then of course, I handed back their graded papers, and everyone had a question about some of my comments. I told them I had to leave, that I had an appointment to get to, but they should email me, and I'd answer when I could.

Which didn't stop two of them from following me out of the classroom, with "just a quick question" about something I'd written—which I didn't even remember writing because I'd graded those papers three days ago in a state of complete exhaustion.

Which wasn't fair to them, I'll admit it. But I was pregnant, and happily so, but I also got tired pretty easily, too.

Still, days like today were not the norm. Especially considering I was well within my second trimester, and happy to be here. Today just—today was just one of those days.

My phone buzzed in my hand as I stomped down the street, practically groaning thanks to the sweltering heat of this July day, and I knew who it was before looking.

Mom.

Where are you?

I didn't bother texting her back, just hurried up even, grateful for the "walk" sign as I rushed across the street. I'd be there in two minutes if nothing else went wrong.

And there she was standing outside the building, looking at her phone through glasses perched low on her nose, her bag dangling from the crook of her arm.