I turn my head when the doctor pulls back the sheet to examine Charlotte. She squeezes my hand and looks up at me. It’s real fear I see there.
“Your cervix is soft and dilated about a fingertip. That’s not okay for someone at twenty weeks’ gestation. I’m going to admit you to the hospital and monitor you to see what’s going on.”
“Am I losing the baby?”
“A lot more would need to happen for you to deliver. That’s why I’m putting you in to be monitored. I want to make sure nothing further happens. And if it does, we’ll need to stop it.”
Charlotte bursts into tears. “I knew something like this was going to happen. I knew she was going to upset me so much that something was going to go wrong.”
“Who upset you?”
“Frankee.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “You’ve had no contact with her in almost two months. How could she possibly have upset you?”
“She won’t let you take my calls.”
“That has nothing to do with her.”
“She’s trying to keep you from being a part of the baby’s life.”
She has no idea that the only reason I’m here is because of Frankee. “I didn’t want to come today, but she told me I needed to.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you believe it or not.”
“Seriously? I’m lying here pregnant with your baby, and I may be in preterm labor and you’re talking to me like that?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you. I want you to want me. And I want you to want our baby so we can be a family. The family I never had.”
She is delusional.
“I’ve already told you that I love Frankee. She’s the one thing I want and love most in this world. That isn’t going to change because you’re pregnant with my baby.”
Charlotte releases my hand as though it’s burned her. “You are such an asshole.”
We fucked once. I didn’t even know her name when she came to tell me about the baby. Why does she believe I’m going to drop everything in my life to be with her?
A nurse comes into the exam room. “Honey, I’m going to move you to a room in labor and delivery.”
Charlotte is sobbing and wailing the whole way to the room. Everybody we pass is looking at her. And then at me.
Several nurses come into her room, each doing something different to her—which causes even more sobbing and wailing.
What a shit show.
Porter: Not sure what’s going on.
Porter: They’ve admitted Charlotte to the hospital because she may be in preterm labor.
Frankee immediately calls. “What’s happening?”
“The doctor admitted her to the hospital because her cervix was dilated a little bit.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“They want to monitor her to make sure she isn’t in preterm labor. And if she is, they’ll need to stop it.”
A pillow slams against the side of my head, causing me to drop my phone. “You’re seriously talking to her while I’m over here going through all of this? When it’s all her fault?” She’s shouting so loudly they can probably hear her in the waiting room.
“Stop it, Charlotte.”
I see the nurses looking at one another. Wondering. Assuming. Judging.
Presuming I’m a cheating asshole. And it fucking bugs me.
I pick up my phone and walk toward the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I say nothing as I step into the hallway. “Porter, are you still there?”
“Baby, this is a fucking mess up in here.”
“I heard what she said. What is she talking about?”
I was hoping she hadn’t heard that. “She’s blaming you for putting her into preterm labor.”
“What the actual fuck? I haven’t seen or spoken to her in two months.”
“We’re not dealing with a reasonable person.”
“That’s becoming more and more apparent. So what happens now?”
“I guess we see if she’s in preterm labor and go from there.”
“Does that mean you have to stay with her?”
“I don’t know. What is my responsibility to her in this situation?”
“You may be her baby’s father, but you’re basically a stranger. I would think she’d want her family and friends to be with her.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would think so too, but I’m not sure with her.”
“I guess you’re not coming back to work right now. What do you want me to tell people?”
“Let’s just say I went home sick.” That’s not entirely a lie. I feel like I want to puke.
I’m beginning to see this for what it really is. A situation that is far more fucked up than I originally thought.
Frankee is sitting on my living room couch when I come home. I go to her without saying a word and wrap my arms around her. We stay like that for at least five minutes, and I enjoy the calm she instills in me.
So different from the yelling and bellowing I’ve listened to all day.
“I’m so fucked, Frankee.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I think something is wrong with that woman.”
“Like what?”
“It’s as though everything she does is to gain attention and put on a show for someone. Every reaction is over-the-top extreme. And I’m having a baby with her. I’m stuck with that for the rest of my fucking life.”
It nearly sends me into a state of panic when I consider the reality of it.
“Do you think she has some kind of personality disorder or something like that?”
“Odds are good, but I’ve figured out one thing for sure today. She’s obsessed with having me and obsessed with needing you to be out of the picture.”
“That’s not new.”
I haven’t told Frankee all the crazy, bizarre, extreme things she has said. “It’s new in that I had no idea how severe it was. It’s not rational. It’s disturbing. Like a Lifetime movie kind of disturbing.”
“One conversation and I knew. She’s going to be a huge problem whether we allow it or not.”
“I can’t believe I was with her. Fuck, I could kick myself in the ass.” I squeeze Frankee. “Baby, I am so sorry that I have brought this woman into our lives.”
“What’s done is done. Now we have to figure out how to deal with her.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Have they determined if she’s having preterm labor or not?”
“She was having some irregular contractions, and they gave her medicine to stop them. The doctor says that if they get it under control, she’ll be discharged from the hospital but could be on bed rest until she reaches full term. You don’t even want to know what she said about that.”
“You can’t say that and then not tell me.”
“Her claim is that if she’s on bed rest, then she can’t work, and if she can’t work, she can’t pay her rent.”
“Does that mean she wants money from you?”
“No.” Frankee is going to blow her top. “She wants to move in with me.”
“Ohhh… fuck that! She can get that idea out of her head right now.”
“She’s going to milk this for everything she can. I’m going to have a huge problem on my hands when she’s discharged from the hospital.” This truly is a clusterfuck.
“There’s no way she’s moving in here.”
“I told her I would pay her rent if she went on bed rest. Which sucks because I don’t even know for sure that this baby is mine. But that’s not enough for her. She says she’s going to need me to take care of her.”
“Like how?”
“Making sure she’s entertained and comfortable and well-fed and stress-free. Oh, and helping her shower and change clothes.”
“Did she ask you to give her orgasms as well?”
“I don’t think I can go back
up there and deal with her.” It’s too fucking much.
“You don’t have to. She’s in the hospital where a very capable medical staff is taking care of her and the baby. There’s nothing you can do anyway but sit there.”
“Which is what I think she expects.”
“You haven’t told me if it’s a boy or a girl.”
I know Frankee wants a girl when she has a baby. I sort of hate telling her.
“A girl.”
“Does the thought of having a baby girl make you happy?”
“It would if you were her mother.”
“But I’m not.”
She’s definitely not. But I want her to be one day.
“You cannot leave me here alone.”
“You don’t have to work; I’m paying your bills. Your refrigerator is full of food. All of your prescriptions have been filled. You’re fine.”
“I’m on bed rest. I can’t be alone.”
“You’re on modified bed rest. Your doctor said you can go back and forth between the couch and bed and you’re able to shower every day and go to the bathroom on your own. There is no need for me to be here.”
“I want to move in with you.”
She’s beating a dead horse. It’s fucking decapitated because she won’t leave it alone.
“Absolutely not.”