Chapter 2
James looked pissed off. He said quietly, "Are you this sensitive because you're pregnant? Celia and I grew up together. She's got no one else now. I'm just helping her out. Do you have to blow this out of proportion?"
I stared at him, and suddenly felt he was so unlike the man I knew.
"You think I'm being dramatic?" I said.
He didn't say anything, but his eyes said it all: "Exactly".
Celia stood off to the side, gently tugging at his sleeve. She said softly, "James, don't argue with Olivia. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have bothered you."
The way she talked made me look like the villain there.
James immediately sided with her. "Forgave my wife. She's been moody lately."
His words really pissed me off.
I was carrying his baby, and when my legs cramped up in the middle of the night, he just rolled over and complained that I was keeping him awake.
When I had to do the glucose test, I waited in line for two hours on an empty stomach. I called him, and he just said he was in a meeting.
At my prenatal checkup, the doctor said I was anemic and told him to pay more attention. He was just replying to messages by the door, not even looking up.
And now he was calling me "moody".
I looked at the shopping cart, then suddenly reached out, grabbed the maternity kit from the top, and threw it back on the shelf.
"James, if you want to play the hero, don't call me your wife," I said.
His frown deepened. "What do you mean? We're married."
"So you do remember we're married," I retorted.
With that, I turned and walked away.
I didn't walk fast. My belly was so heavy that every step weighed me down.
But I never looked back.
As I reached the door, James's voice came from behind, thick with anger.
"Olivia, stop making a scene!" he shouted.
I paused but didn't turn around. "Funny, when you bought her baby bottles, didn't you think you were making a scene?" I said, my voice flat.
*****
That night, James didn't get home until half past eleven.
When he walked in, I was sitting at the dining table, surrounded by receipts and bank statements.
Everything was laid out neatly, like I was about to put him on trial or just do the math.
As soon as James saw all those papers, his face turned grim. "Are you checking up on me?"
"This one's 1,300 dollars for prenatal supplements. This one's 3,100 dollars for a deposit at a postpartum care center. And this one's 14,000 dollars for an imported crib and car seat," I said.
I looked up at him. "James, are you helping Celia out, or are you basically taking care of her?"
He tossed his car keys onto the table, finally letting all that pent-up anger out. "Are you done yet? I've told you, Celia's all alone right now. I'm just helping her get through this. She'll pay it back later."
"And when exactly is 'later'?" I pressed.
"When she's back on her feet," he replied.
"And what gives her the right? Why should she get to use your money to pull herself together?" I shot back.
James tugged at his collar, clearly annoyed. "Olivia, can't you stop being so money-minded? Celia's already having a tough time, and you're still fixated on the cash."
I almost laughed at how absurd that was. "Me, money-minded?"
"Her husband had affairs. He's dragging out the divorce paperwork. Celia's family won't help her. She's pregnant and has nobody to take care of her. You're a woman too. Can't you have a little empathy?" James said.
He said it so self-righteously, like I was just some cold outsider, not even his wife.
I stared at him for a few seconds, and then suddenly asked, "And what about me?"