“So, what if someone is?” I answer, refusing to give up on it. There might be a tiny stain I assume is mustard on the neckline, but it’s not even that visible. Plus, for two bucks? A steal.
More cars pass us, this time with surfboards strapped to their roofs and floaties in their backseats. I’m instantly jealous of all these families who’ll be able to jump in the glacial water to ward off the heat instead of burning on the side of the road.
“Garage sales are so weird,” Keira says, still examining our layout. “I want to get rid of all this useless shit. You want it?”
“I have to say, we outdid ourselves with the randomness of this one.”
“Want a coat rack straight out of the Titanic? How about a Utah travel guide that’s older than the Internet?”
I grab the first item to my right. “Could I tempt you with a rotary cheese grater that may or may not still house an old rind of parmesan?”
“Or maybe a VCR player that doesn’t rewind the tapes anymore?”
“Three individual golf balls?” Ruth didn’t even play golf.
“A chair that will hold so long as you don’t lean too far back?” She points to the struggling one she’s sitting on.
“Don’t forget the black cable that charges some unknown electronic item.”
She holds up a stuffed animal that could be a rat or a squirrel, with beady eyes that are too wide for its face. “A kid’s plushie that was likely haunted at some point?”
“It feels like it’s staring straight into my soul.” I fight a shudder. “I’m not sure whether it’s supposed to be comforting to a kid or used as a threat.”
“You know what?” She puts it in the bag under the table. “I’m keeping it to test it out.”
“You’re my hero.”
She smirks, and before I can wonder whether her smile will disappear as she remembers who she’s speaking with, our first client of the day arrives, rifling through all the shit like he might find hidden treasures in there (and unless his idea of treasure is a twenty-year-old mug that says "World's Best Grandma" then he won't find it here). A few others ensue. The cookies Eli baked and left in front of my door yesterday are certainly helping. On top of the box of the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had was a note that said,Gotta give those customers some incentive. x.I’d like to pretend like I haven’t been thinking of that ‘x’since I read it, but that would be a lie.
Once our first wave of customers has come and gone, leaving with a few items, I take a seat next to Keira, who’s remained on herchair most of the time. She’s still rubbing a hand on the lower part of her belly, looking in pain. “Contractions?” I ask.
“Ligament pain,” she answers. “I’ve been dreaming of a massage since week eight.”
“Does Rob give you some?”
Something in her expression changes at that, but her straw hat hides some of it. “He hasn’t been around much these past few weeks. Busy times at work.” She leans back, then jerks forward when she remembers what she’s sitting on. “I didn’t expect the second pregnancy to feel this… lonely.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes suddenly pinch in pain, making me jerk up. “What’s wrong?”
“Little hellion decided to treat me like their very own soccer ball.”
“They do like to be the center of attention at all times.”
She looks up, and she must see something in my face because without talking, she takes my hand and places it on her belly. I never would’ve asked and definitely wouldn’t have done it without permission, but it feels wonderful to be granted this gift.
It doesn’t take long before a small bump of pressure appears against my palm, and my face breaks into a painful smile. Working in healthcare is strange. You can experience something day in and day out and be unphased by it, but the second it occurs to your loved one, it’s as if you experience it for the first time. I’m not a nurse checking for fetal positioning or adjusting monitors. I’m asister, touching her niece for the first time, and it’s such a magical experience it brings tears to my eyes. Happy ones, this time.
“You’ve got a real Lionel Messi in there.”
“If she could wait a few weeks before making her World Cup debut, I’d appreciate it.”
I smile again, rubbing a thumb over her belly button when I feel another kick. Pregnancy is such a strange, wonderful, almost otherworldly thing.
“Do you still want them?” she asks.
I swallow, then shake my head once, and in one look, I know she knows. Mom must’ve told her at some point that I’d been trying for a baby, and even without the specifics, she seems to have understood that it’s not in the cards for me. “Endometriosis,” I say simply.
