She Wore an Indigo Shirt

Did you know that condoms are only effective about 98% of the time? Well, up until three months ago today, I didn’t care either. Turns out the week I’m out of birth control is the week Marc and I use a condom that resides in the other percentile.

The upside to being pregnant is that you can basically use it as a scapegoat for anything. Need an example? I got out of doing my own dishes that I didn’t want to do by telling Marc I was having cramps.

The downside, however, is that Marc won’t let me do anything. And I mean it. The other day him and a couple of his friends had decided to play some soccer down in Central Park. I had been forced to sit on the sidelines with the other girlfriends so that I didn’t hurt the baby. I mean, honestly. At three months pregnant I’m just beginning to show – unless one of the guys missed the ball and kicked my uterus, chances are I would’ve been fine to play.

And even today, as I carry a bag of milk and two large containers of yogurt towards the shopping cart, Marc’s giving me a wary look. “You know, Marcus, with all the lifting my uterus has been doing lately, this bag of milk is getting awfully heavy.”

By playing into his fear of having something happen to the baby, he immediately rushes to me and grabs the milk. I can only grin widely as he carries it back to the shopping cart. I stroll leisurely behind Marc and dump my two containers of yogurt in to match the other two I already had in there, and then look up at Marc with a wide smile on my face. He has a wary look on his face, but it softens into a smile when I slowly rub my slight baby bump. “The baby likes yogurt.”

He suddenly wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I brace myself against his chest as his face presses into the top of my head. “Once you have that baby, you’re going to run out of excuses.”

I grin like a Cheshire cat. “I guess you’ll just have to get me pregnant again.”

He rolls his eyes and releases my shoulder. We’re done in this dairy aisle, so Marc starts pushing the cart towards the next aisle. I’m still rubbing my hands over my stomach as I follow him dutifully. “How much do you want to bet it’s going to be a little boy? I bet your swimmers overpowered my dainty egg.”

Marc sighs. “I hope it’s a boy. I’m not worrying about a girl.”

I break out into a little jog to catch up to Marc. “What would be so bad about having a girl?”

Marc looks at me like the answer is obvious. And it’s quite possible, and I’m just missing it. “Because she’ll grow up like you.”

I flutter my eyelashes at him playfully. “So you’re afraid of having a gorgeous daughter.”

He doesn’t deny my comment, I notice, when he informs me that he knows what guys are like. “I know what guys are like too, my love. I have six brothers.”

Marc makes a groaning sound, and I stop walking. “What?” I ask curiously.

“We still haven’t told your brothers you’re pregnant.”

My eyes light up at this little bit of news. I grin so widely I feel my cheeks cracking, but Marc doesn’t seem to share my enthusiasm. When I say nothing more on the matter, he begins walking again. I, however, wait until he’s gained some ground on me, and then I take a run at him and jump on his back. My action does not faze him. I hook my legs around his waist, loop my arms loosely around his neck, and put my chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you should wear your hockey equipment when you tell them. I don’t think they’re going to appreciate you making their baby sister act all orgasmic.”

Marc’s skin starts to turn pink as I wave at an older women who’s staring at us in the next aisle over. She pretends to look at the box of frozen fish sticks she’s picked up from the horizontal freezer separating our two aisles, but since I notice she’s holding the box upside down, I know she isn’t reading it.

“Him and I have sex!” I call out to her.

Marc pinches my exposed calf in response. “Marcus,” I whine, “that hurt.”

“That was inappropriate,” he chastises.

I ignore him. “I bet she’s jealous.”

“Probably is,” he agrees dryly.

I sigh as we turn down the aisle that has all the frozen treats in it. “Can we have sex when we get back to your parents’ place?”

Marc stops pushing and attempts to look at me over his shoulder. “Are you asking me if we can have sex in my parents’ house?”

I look at him innocently. He can’t see my face, but he can probably hear it in my voice. “Is that not an appropriate suggestion?”

He heaves his shoulders in a sigh. “Chelsea –”

“Popsicles!” I interrupt loudly, pointing to the freezer that catches my eye, “I want popsicles!”

“We’ve got popsicles at my parents’ house.”

“Those are cherry. I want grape.”

“Of course you do,” he mumbles, but retrieves them anyways.

“Can I have one?” I ask politely, holding my hand out.

“Not until we pay for it.”

“If you let me have a popsicle now, I’ll work your popsicles when we go home.”

“Chelsea!” he reprimands firmly.

“What?”

“Be quiet.”

“Killjoy,” I mumble under my breath.
…
There are a lot of people in the Staal household. Many of them I’d met previously, and there were others that were friends of friends. I sat on the kitchen island while Marc has his back to me.

His skin is tinted red from the sun he’d gotten earlier today after we’d gotten home from grocery shopping for his mom. We’d gone swimming in his buddy’s pool, and he’d refused to wear sun block.

Now I reserve the right to touch his sore back whenever I feel like it. Speaking of which, I extend my leg and brush my toes against his back.

He swats blindly at my leg, but I move away just in time. “Come on, Marcus. You’re opening beer. Not a chastity belt.”

He turns a wayward glance at me. I just smile innocently at him until he turns back around. Just as his back was to me, I reach my toes out again. However, this time I don’t even get my knee straightened before Marc turns around quickly and grabs my leg.

His quick movements catch me off guard, and I nearly drop the glass of orange juice I’m drinking. “Be nice, Chelsea,” he tells me as he steps closer to the counter, “or I’ll throw you in the pool.”

I smile. “You don’t have a pool.”

He looks up at the ceiling and then back down at me. His hand drifts up my leg until it rests on my thigh. “Be nice, Chelsea, or I’ll get a pool built and then throw you in it.”

I gasp theatrically. “All that suspense will kill me!”

He gives a low chuckle and leans forward to kiss me quickly.

“And then the next morning she woke up pregnant.” I break away from Marc and look for the source of the female voice. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen is Monica, an ex-girlfriend of Marc’s, and now currently a friend of both of ours.

“That’s the Sparknotes version,” I tell her as I hop off the counter.

I pick up three opened bottles of beer and head outside after Marc. “So what’s the detailed version, then?” Monica asks as I walk past her through the back screen door.

From about six feet ahead of us, Marc looks at us over his shoulder. “Don’t encourage her,” he says pointedly to Monica.

Monica raises one eyebrow as she looks at me, and pulls a face. I look quickly to Marc to see if he’s still paying attention to us. He isn’t, since he’s already passing out the beers he’d carried out to his friends around the firepit; so I hold up my index and middle finger together, as well as my pinky finger. I use my thumb to hold my ring finger down, and wave my hand a tiny bit. Both of Monica’s eyebrows shoot up beneath her bangs, and lets out a surprised cackle. “Chelsea!” She reprimands loudly through a laugh.

Before I can see Marc’s expression, he’s already at us and lifting me over his shoulder. My hair obscures my vision, so when Marc says, “I told you not to encourage her”, I assume he’s talking to Monica. Since he’s lifted me over his shoulder, I’ve dropped the three beers and my orange juice that I had been carrying.

I mourn the loss of the beverages silently as Marc carries me over to the firepit. I can feel the warmth of the fire on the back of my bare legs, and once Marc sets me on my feet, I can feel the warmth all over my body.

“Hey Chels, where’s my beer?”

I smile innocently at Derek, who had asked me the question. “Funny story, Derek,” I tell him as Marc curls an arm around my waist and pulls me backwards onto his chair. “Marc dropped your drink.”

Derek’s a frat boy currently attending Lakehead University, and the thought of having his beer wasted makes his face contort as if he was about to be sick. Even with the orange glow of the crackling fire I can see his face pale.

Marc’s hand smoothes the material of my empire waist tank over my slight baby bump, and it sends chills up my spine. “Cold?” Marc whispers into my hair after I lean back against his chest.

My eyes are trained on Derek, who’s forgotten all about me after Monica appears with replenishment for those who had lost their drink because Marc had decided to manhandle me. I’m surprised, even, when she hands me a glass of orange juice. I try to let my face show gratitude as I smile at her, instead of surprise.

After Monica turns and heads over to her seat, I change my position so I’m sitting horizontally on Marc’s lap. I let my legs hang over the armrest as Marc slowly starts rocking us in the chair, my toes brushing against the canvas material of the chair beside us. “You know, if you hadn’t broken up with her, she’d probably wait on you hand and foot,” I admit freely to him. The noise around the fire is too loud and Monica’s too far away to actually hear anything. I take a swig of my orange juice, and Marc’s left hand travels up to rub my leg.

“Why would I want to be treated like a God when I can be abused emotionally and physically?” He asks as he kisses my cheek.

I gasp theatrically as I twist my torso so I can look at him seriously in the eyes. I hand him my cup of orange juice so I can cup his jaw in my hands. “Tell me who’s hurting you, baby.”

Marc keeps his face completely neutral as he stops us from rocking slowly on the chair. We sit in a mock-serious silence for what seems like an eternity, until the chair suddenly drops out from beneath us. I stay on Marc’s lap, but Marc ends up flat on the ground. I lose my concentration, so all I can do is blink slowly to digest what had just happened. The people around us have all gone silent, since no one’s really sure what to say. My orange juice had, in the fall, leapt out of the glass and splattered on Marc and I, and I can feel my skin already getting sticky.

Then, it’s like time speeds back up, because as I see the gleam in Marc’s eyes, I throw my head back and start laughing uncontrollably. Marc, never one to over-exaggerate any emotion, buries his head in my neck to hide his laughter. And the best part is, as a lot of people start laughing at us, it probably isn’t as funny as we’re making it seem.
…
“What colour do you think my shirt is?”

I pause at the edge of the kitchen and look at the back of my boyfriend. He’s wearing a shirt, but I bet he’s still a little bit burnt from the other day. His movement isn’t hindered in the least, which leads me to believe that the burn isn’t too bad anymore. He looks at me over his shoulder, briefly, and then turns back to the counter. “Purple,” he says.

I nod my head slowly, and then look over to Jared who’s sitting at the kitchen table. “What do you think?”

He looks up at me slowly. His gaze travels over my top, but I know he’s looking at the shirt and not at me. “Blue.”

I hear the clanging of cutlery as Marc turns around fully to look at his youngest brother. “That’s purple.”

Jared accepts the unspoken challenge as he stands up. The two boys are comparable in height and build as they square off, chest to chest. As they puff their chests out and push their shoulders back, I sneak over to the counter and steal Marc’s PB&J sandwich. Gosh, I’m so sneaky.

I take a spot at the kitchen table behind where Marc and Jared are arguing, happily blocking out their noise and eating Marc’s lunch. The floor creaks behind me, and I lean my head back to see Jordan slowly making his way into the kitchen. “What are they arguing about?” he asks as he pulls a chair over to sit beside me and away from the brawl.

“The colour of my shirt,” I inform him while I continue eating.

“It’s indigo – which one of them said indigo?”

I smile happily. “Neither. Because most guys don’t know what indigo is.”

Jordan flushes from his neck to his hairline. “I meant purple. Which one said purple?”

I eye him, wordlessly teasing him as I try to bite back my smile. “That’s what Marc said.”

“Chelsea, tell your stupid boyfriend that it’s blue.” I look over to Jared’s pouting face. His hair is all messed up, which leads me to believe that the two of them engaged in a bit of roughhousing in the time it’s taken Jordan to steal my attention.

I look contemplatively between the two brothers before I swallow what I had been eating. Marc’s sandwich is gone, so now I have nothing left to but stir the pot a bit more. “Actually you’re both wrong.”

Marc puts his hands on his hips. “Chels, pick one. It has to be one or the other.”

I put my elbows on the table, and place my chin on my intertwined fingers. I give Marc a slightly smoldering look from under my eyelashes. “It could be indigo, right Jordan?”

The second youngest Staal brother is still completely red under my gaze, but I don’t feel the least bit shamed. The room has gotten silent again, since Marc and Jared have basically decided that the argument is over. I stand, and beckon Marc with my hand. “Come on, my sensual lover, take me to the hospital.”

Jordan and Jared groan simultaneously, probably at the mental image I’ve painted for them.

Marc follows dutifully behind me as I walk to the foyer to get my shoes. “Why do we have to go to the hospital, Chelsea?”

He uses my full name, which means he’s feeling an intense emotion. In this case, I think I can pinpoint it to anxiety or fear.

“Is it the baby?”

Yup, definitely anxiety or fear.

“No big deal,” I say, “I’ve just got cramps.”

“No big deal?” he asks as he simultaneously slides his flip-flops on and grabs his car keys. “If it was no big deal, you wouldn’t want to go!”

I make sure the screen door doesn’t smack him in the face as I step out onto the concrete steps. “Do you have hot male nurses in Thunder Bay?”

I step off the final step to the walkway just as Marc takes a gentle hold on my wrist. He turns me around slowly and looks at me. “Don’t deflect, Chels. What’s wrong?”

I bite my bottom lip as I look at him. “I’m scared I’ll wake up one morning and there’ll be a problem with the baby.”

Marc’s eyes soften as he holds my chin in his large hands. “You don’t have to be brave by yourself, you know.”

I smile softly at him. “Have you ever thrown up just about every morning for three months, Marcus?” I laugh lightly, “I’m going to be milking you for everything you have for the next eighteen years.”

He says nothing more, so I get up on my toes and press a kiss to his throat. It was a peace offering for him; promising him that it would be all right. Because even though I’m worried, I knew that with him it would be all right.
…
Twilight has descended over Thunder Bay as Marc and I pull up the gravel driveway of the family farm. I can hear crickets somewhere in the distance, in the silence of the neighbourhood. It isn’t a sound I hear often in New York, and I have to say, after spending the last week up with Marc’s family, I have to say I’ve grown accustomed to it. Don’t get me wrong; I love New York. But if I had to choose a place to maybe one day live with Marc, I’d choose a place more like Thunder Bay.

A warm glow from the front window filters out onto the green grass of the front lawn. Marc has barely gotten to put the vehicle in park before I leap out and race to the house.

“Chelsea!” Marc calls from behind me as I whip open the door. “Chelsea!”

The family is sitting the living room and playing a game. The nice thing about the Staal family is that they’re still a family, no matter what. No matter how old the kids get and where they go, when they come home they’re still kids.

“My son is hung like a horse!” I cry, waving an ultrasound printout in the air. "And it was just indigestion!"

Linda stops laughing at something someone’s said, and the entire room goes silent.

“I can see you made the horse comment, Chels,” Marc drones from behind me.

I look over my shoulder at Marc and grin widely. The entire ride from the gas station to the house Marc had been trying to discourage me from saying it, but clearly I hadn’t been listening.

The shock of my comment slowly wears off as Tanya lets out a squeal that matches the octaves of dolphins. I turn around just in time to have her wrap her arms around me and squish my face into her chest. “You’re having a son!”

Everyone stands up at once, and when Tanya lets go, the entire family has surrounded Marc and I, giving us congratulations and laughing at how the Staal chromosome had struck again. I pout to myself though; no one cares my baby is hung.
…
Whil yeme reme dell see camera on?

I fixate at a spot on the rug as I know Marc stares at the card he’s got completely covered by his large hands.

“Whil yeme reme dell see camera on?” I repeat as I stare at Marc.

He nods.

“I don’t get it.”

“You’re supposed to figure out what it says, Chels. And before time runs out.”

“I know how to play,” I tell him, “but you’re giving me a really hard one.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re just being lazy.”

“Love you too, baby.”

Jordan laughs from his spot across the couch. “Chelsea, just think about it. Whil yeme is –”

“Jordan, hush,” Linda interrupts her son with a pointed look. I look between mother and son, confused, as Jordan literally clamps his mouth shut.

“Whil yeme reme.”

The white sand in the timer empties to the bottom, and my spirits fall. Marc sighs, his shoulder sagging. “God, I suck.”

“Well, we’re not moving on until you get it,” Marc says.

I scrunch my nose at him. “Um, time’s up and I didn’t get it. No one else had to keep guessing.”

“Everyone else made an effort to get the answer,” he counters.

I sigh and give in. “Whil yeme reme dell sea camera on?”

I look at the mirror that hangs on the wall across the room from us. I can see myself, slightly defeated, and Marc staring at me as if willing the answer into my brain. Dell sea camera on.

“Chelsea Cameron!” I suddenly yelp, turning back to Marc. “Dell sea camera on means Chelsea Cameron!” I furrow my eyebrows. “Why is my name in the game?” I make a reach for the card Marc holds, but he quickly moves away.

“Figure out the rest,” he tells me, avoiding the question I noticed.

“Whil yeme reme, Chelsea Cameron.” By now I feel guilty for not getting it. I can see Jordan getting agitated from his seat, but his girlfriend Heather quickly shushes him by putting a hand on his knee.

A tiny ring gleams on her finger in the faux lighting of the living room. Jordan had given it to her on her last birthday as a promise ring. It had been sweet, but with all my heart I hope they wear a condom that is only 2% effective so they don’t end up in the same boat as Marc and I.

But suddenly an idea hits me and I gasp. “Will you marry me, Chelsea Cameron!” I say it as I stare at Heather’s ring.

I turn back to look at Marc. “Will you marry me, Chel –”

Marc’s on his knee in front of me on the couch with a ring popped. Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I cover my mouth with my hands. I knew he hadn’t drawn a legit card from the deck. Damn Jared and his adorable little laugh. Distracting me and whatnot. And his family must’ve known, because Linda had stopped Jordan from giving me the answer.

“You want to marry me?” My voice quivers with emotion through my hands.

Marc tries not to laugh. “Yes. You and that purple shirt of yours.”

Suddenly, me announcing that my baby is hung like a horse isn’t the most memorable part of the night. I slide off the couch so I’m kneeling in front of Marc. I think I’m having an out of body experience, the way I feel like I can see the entire room from an outside point of view.

I lean towards Marc, squishing the beautiful princess cut diamond ring between us as I wrap my arms around his neck. His scent comforts me as I press a kiss to the side of his mouth, his cheek, and then his neck before I bury my head in the spot between his neck and shoulders. I sniff loudly; happily afraid I won’t be able to speak without bawling my eyes out.

“It’s indigo,” I hear Jordan say nonchalantly.

This starts out another argument between him and Jared.

I pull away and bite back a laugh as I look at Marc. His features are soft, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I’d slid down onto the floor. I love how the happiest moment of my life is happening and Jordan and Jared are arguing loudly behind us. God I love this family, and I mean that with all my heart.

“Yes.”