"Any Second Now"

Melissa was five months pregnant, but she hadn’t thrown up once or asked for peanut butter and pickles or anything. All being pregnant meant was that Melissa had a cute little pot belly that made her look like she hadn’t taken a dump in weeks. Other than that, everything was like it always was. And really, that wasn’t so unusual. So, I didn’t think twice about asking. Yes, I asked.

“Can I go to Alex’s bachelor party?”

“When is it?” Melissa asked.

“August 6.”

"Do you care?"

“Not at all.”

She meant it too, at the time. Me going to Charleston a month before Melissa was due was no big deal. A month was all the time in the world. To both of us. Then, things started to happen, fast. Melissa went from a “b” cup to a “d.” That was nice. Soon, the belly caught up with the boobs. Not as nice. As I kissed Melissa’s belly goodbye, I noticed that it had gotten so big that her boobs looked small again. This pregnancy thing was getting serious.

“You have to have your phone, like every minute,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Seriously.”

I gave Melissa a list of guys she could call if she couldn’t get me. She put it in the little bag slung over her shoulder and rubbed her belly. She made the sad puppy face, and asked me to call when I landed.

“I’m in Charleston,” I said. “I survived. The others weren’t so lucky.”

“Thanks for not forgetting,” Melissa said.

Alex’s bachelor party was like all the others, and since I used Alex’s real name, I won’t get into it. I’ll tell you this, though. Lap dances are no way to celebrate the impending birth of your daughter.

“Dude, this is Heaven,” my buddy said, placing Heaven’s hand in mine. “Heaven, my buddy is having a baby girl in a month. I want you to show him a good time.”

Heaven leaned in close. She smelled like strawberry bubblegum.

“Hope she doesn’t wind up here,” Heaven said.

“Me neither, Heaven. And now that you said that, there’s pretty much no chance you’ll be able to get me hard, so I’d prefer if you just didn’t touch me at all.”

Of course, I didn’t say that. I’m too nice a guy. Ask my friends. Or my wife, depending on the day. Heaven was mediocre. As a dancer, I mean. Obviously.

The sun was coming up as I fell asleep, drunk. My phone was secure in the waste band of my boxer-briefs. At 8:00 a.m., my eyes shot open. The phone had been going off, ringing and vibrating in the crotch pocket of my underwear. I had thought it was a dream. My heart was pounding. It was time. I was still drunk.

I tried to make out the caller ID. “Kim.” My wife’s sister. I sprung up in bed, scrambling to get over the safety ledge on my top bunk. I answered the phone, and Kim said a lot of words, but the only two I heard were “Melissa” and “labor.” I rummaged frantically through a pile of dirty clothes and empty cigarette packs.

“Kim! Wait, hold on. Where the fuck is my wallet!”

“So, is she?” Kim said.

I froze.

“Wait, what?” I said.

“Is she?”

“Are you asking me, Kim?”

“Oh my god.”

“Shit, Kim!”

“I’m so sorry,” Kim said. “I had a missed call from her, I just thought-.”

“I hate you, Kim.”

Of course, I didn’t say that. I hung up on Kim before she could say anything else. The other three guys in my room were still sound asleep. I took two puffs of my inhaler and found a cigarette in one of the packs on the floor. I walked out front where the sun was getting higher and higher in the South Carolina summer sky. It was already hot. The door shut behind me and locked automatically. Only two guys in the house had a key. I didn’t know who they were, but I knew they were sleeping. I didn’t have a lighter, or my wallet. Just my phone.