***
Lizzy turned her face away from the tray the nurse, Peyton, set on her bedside table. The glass tabletop was far too small for the weight of the tray, another heaping helping of plain porridge with a side of oily, pan-fried fish. Peyton called them kippers, and it was the fourth serving she’d offered Lizzy in as many days, claiming the omega-3s in the fish were good for the baby’s brain development. They probably were, but she couldn’t stomach them. Literally.
On the first two days, Lizzy shoveled half-full spoonfuls of the porridge into her mouth and forced herself to swallow. On the third day, she’d been hungry enough to chance a bit of the fish, which she’d regretted when her stomach roiled and only quick thinking and a nearby wastebasket kept her from vomiting onto the carpet of Ian’s guest bedroom. Breakfast wasn’t her only meal of the day. In fact, she’d eaten more during her four-day stay in Ian’s guest room than she had in a few weeks. Ian saw to the rest of Lizzy’s meals, and his philosophy was it was better that she ate a plate of less-than-healthy fare than starved herself refusing a healthy plate.
The interior of Ian’s house, like his office, was more comfortable than the outside suggested. Shining hardwood floors and white crown molding contrasted with the bleak gray stone exterior. She’d only had a brief moment to look at the house as Ian guided her from the front door to the guest room. Each room was tidy and decorated with professional precision. The perfectly placed expensive knick-knacks made her miss the organized chaos of her apartment. Most of the house had the same peppery aroma of Ian’s cologne, but the guest room smelled of vanilla and orange, a warm smell that made the room feel comfy, but did nothing to cover the twinge of kippers in the air.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Peyton’s brow furrowed, and the jolly smile melted from her face. The two women had spent Lizzy’s confinement locked in a subtle battle of wills. The first round, a small fight over whether she needed an IV or could manage her hydration alone, had been a tie. The IV never entered Lizzy’s veins, but Peyton and Ian both strictly monitored her fluid intake. Lizzy won the battle of the bedpan cleanly, though she wasn’t proud that she’d resorted to implying that spills might ruin Ian’s expensive mattress. The all-important bout over a laptop, however, went decidedly in Peyton’s favor. The nurse deemed the risk too great. Ian refereed that particular fight and sided with the nurse. Lizzy still hadn’t forgiven him for taking Peyton’s side.
“You have to eat, Lizzy. The baby gets its nutrients from you.”
Lizzy twirled the edges of the quilt between her fingers. “I can eat later, when my stomach is feeling better.”
Peyton set her hands on her narrow hips. “It’s called morning sickness, not all-day sickness.”
“M-O-U-R. Not M-O-R.” Lizzy’s eyes wandered up to the recessed lighting above her bed, a desperate bid to keep them off the nurse’s face. Peyton knew the best way to ensure Lizzy’s cooperation was to tell her the baby’s health depended on it. Even now, Lizzy’s mind calculated how many bites she needed to force down her throat.
“The baby won’t get any nutrients at all if I throw it all up,” she said.
Peyton scooped a spoonful of the congealed oatmeal and held it in front of Lizzy’s mouth. “Just try a bite. A little won’t hurt.”
Lizzy’s blood boiled. The truth was, the problem wasn’t the food. Her baby needed nourishment, and so did she if she was going to heal. She would eat with Ian when he came back from work, as she did every night. They still didn’t have much to say to one another beyond awkward small talk, but she looked forward to the visits. Ian’s easy demeanor brought with it a wave of calm that eased her stomach. It was the only bright spot in her dreary days stuck in the bed.
Peyton rested her hand on top of Lizzy’s. “I’m not your enemy. I want the same thing as you. For you to have a healthy pregnancy.”
Lizzy jerked her hand away. It wasn’t Peyton that had her on edge. It was the walls, the furniture, and the pattern on the worn quilt. The small details over which she had no control that made up every facet of her life now. She was sick to death of them. But Lizzy had nowhere to direct that frustration except at the nurse.
“What I want is for you to leave.”
“All right, Lizzy. I’ll bring you some books in the meantime.”
“No, I just want to sleep.” More importantly, she wanted the rest of the morning free from Peyton’s hovering.
Peyton didn’t bother to hide her disappointment as she left the room. Lizzy felt a twinge of regret, but she pushed it aside. Asking Peyton to leave was her last resort, and the only one that worked. Peyton always left when Lizzy demanded it, and it bought her time to think. Peyton wasn’t the enemy. Neither was Ian. But they were both part of Lizzy’s loss of control.
She rolled over onto her side and stroked her belly absently. It hadn’t been her plan to actually rest, but boredom and perhaps remaining soreness initiated another round of sleep. That was how she’d spent most of the past four days, and at least it usually offered a reprieve from the monotony of her days.
***
Ian’s hand on her shoulder woke her some time later. By then, the white light of morning had become the darkness of early evening. For a moment, the drastic change in light disoriented her. “What time is it?”
“Later than usual.” Ian pulled one of the white brocade-upholstered armchairs over to the bed and sat down. “I got held up at work.”
He laid a Styrofoam takeout container onto a towel stretched over the quilt. The delicious smell made Lizzy’s stomach growl. She added one more victory to her mental tally sheet. Sleep had given her the clarity she so desperately needed, and she know now that if she was going to survive bedrest with her sanity intact, changes needed to be made.
But it wasn’t as simple making demands. Ian had opened his home to her and spent a lot of money finding someone to care for her. That meant she owed him, and while she didn’t like owing anyone, she never mistreated someone who’d done her a favor. Which meant trusting him to make the decision with her even though it went against all of her instincts.
“Look, Ian...”
“Wait. First, you have to see what’s on the menu tonight. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.” He tugged open the container and revealed a steaming helping of fried fish and chips. “I won’t tell you how to eat, but if you don’t use the malt vinegar, you’ll cheapen the entire experience.”
“Fish and chips is an experience?” she asked as she turned a packet of the vinegar in her fingers.
“Everything is an experience if you do it right.” He opened his container and caught a fat chip between his fingers. “And don’t they say you should eat the way the locals do when traveling?”
“I guess.” Lizzy held the packet in her hands for a moment as she thought of the best way to broach the subject in her mind without offending Ian. The words came from her mouth in a rush before she could stop them. “I don’t think Peyton is working out.”
Ian ripped a corner from his piece of fish and held it between his fingers. He watched Lizzy for a few moments as if rolling her words in his mind, but there was no hint of surprise in his face. Peyton must have already spoken to him.
“Okay,” he said.
“She hasn’t done anything wrong.” Lizzy opened the vinegar packet and sprinkled it over the fish and fries…er, chips. “I just...I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen. I don’t need someone hovering over me all day. Especially not a stranger. I know you paid her, and I can pay you back if canceling her contract means you’re out some cash.”
“You don’t have to pay me back for anything. That’s my niece or nephew in there.” Ian pointed to her belly, but didn’t touch it. He never touched Lizzy without asking. “And you don’t have to explain why it’s not working. If you don’t like her, she doesn’t have to be here.”
Lizzy smiled as relief washed over. She ripped off a small piece of fish and nibbled at one of the crispy edges. It tasted better than
she expected, almost as good as her mother’s recipe, which she’d never been able to replicate.
“On one condition,” Ian said.
Lizzy raised an eyebrow, her mouthful of fried fish making any other method of communication impossible.
“I’ll tell Peyton to stay home. No more strangers if you let me help you more.”
The fish went cold in her mouth as she scolded herself for celebrating too soon. Trading the daily battles with Peyton for more of the same with Ian wasn’t what she’d had in mind. Ian was nice enough to her, always polite, but Lizzy didn’t know Ian as an opponent.
“I don’t know, Ian. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Or a nurse as long as you stay in bed. That’s not what I’m suggesting. You’re carrying my brother’s child. That basically makes us family.” The warm light of the room made the tears in Ian’s hazel eyes glisten. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have much of that left.”
Lizzy shook her head. Her father had chosen the path of least resistance through life—the one that didn’t include a wife and a baby to feed—shortly after her birth. If she passed him on the street she wouldn’t recognize him. He was that much of a stranger to her. Her mother was all she’d had until overwork and cancer had stolen her from Lizzy.
“I’m not asking for us to be best friends tomorrow,” Ian said. “I’m just asking to get to know you better.”