Is the 'I Love You' Worth It?

When I get home, there's a counter note to mine.

Hey-o.
I have to go to practice, and then we have a gig. I don't think you remembered that, so I'm reminding you now. I might be home late, like 1 or 2, and since you don't feel good, I'll try and not wake up. You up. That was supposed to say you up. Anyway, I guess I'll see you then, okay?

The Famous Tré Cool.

The Famous Tré Cool. I decide now would be the best time to plan out what I'm going to say, since he's not here to bug me. I'll tell him and say that I don't blame him for being mad and that I want him to do what's best for him right now, with the band and all. I'm just so afraid that he's going to be mad. Normally, he wouldn't be, but I don't know how he's going to react in this situation. I don't want him to feel like I'm saying he needs to quit the band and become an accountant. That's the last thing I want him to think. But that's what a lot of musicians' girlfriends and wives and families always say. I don't want him to give up what he loves. That wouldn't be fair. I'm so exhausted from worrying and stuff, that I fall asleep and don't hear him come home.

The next morning, I wake up alone. I figure that he fell asleep on the couch or something, so I haul myself out of bed and go looking for him, after getting sick, of course. I have to tell him this morning. I don't want to keep this to myself anymore. It's too much to handle.

"Hey," I say walking into the front room. Tre's sitting on the couch, eating a pop tart. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"Blueberry," he says, holding it up.

"I know, I bought it," I say sitting down next to him.

"Blueberry are the best," he says devouring the rest of it.

"Tré?" I ask, sighing.

"Yup," he says wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I need to talk to you."

"Okay," he says getting up from the couch.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting another Pop Tart," he calls from the kitchen.

"Okay," he says plopping back down on the couch with his Top Tart. "What's up? You didn't get fired, did you?"

"No," I say. "Why would I get fired? You think I do a bad job or something?"

"No," he laughs. "It's just you hate it so much, I thought maybe you set something on fire."

I can't help laughing. I'd love to set something on fire in that godforsaken place.
"It's more serious than that," I say biting on my thumbnail. Tré looks at me and I can tell by the expression on his face that he's trying to guess what it is.

"Are you okay?" I nod.

"Um, remember yesterday when the doctor's office called and gave me the results of a test?" I ask. His eyes go wide.

"Do you have cancer?"

"What? No," I say. "How do you jump to that?"

"Well, you said it was a blood test."

"Oh, yeah, I did, huh?" I say. "Well, I lied. It wasn't a blood test."

He stares at me blankly. This is harder than I thought it was going to be.
"Tré," I sigh. "The doctor called because I'm pregnant."

"What?" he says like he wasn't paying attention to what I said.

"I'm going to have a baby."

He starts laughing. "Yeah, that's what Billie Joe said." What? When he sees I'm not joining in, he stops and looks at me hard. Then without notice, he bursts into tears. So not the reaction I was expecting.

"Tré," I say touching his knee. He falls forward into my lap and sobs.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry," he cries over and over. I have no idea how to respond. I thought he was going to get mad, scream at me about ruining his life, storm out and that I'd never hear from him again. Now I realize that's not him. He wouldn't do that.

"I just thought you should know," I say quietly, rubbing his hair. He says something in response, but I can't understand it. I figure it's best to just let him cry it out now. I get up and get him a Kleenex after about 15 minutes.

"Thanks," he sniffs. "I'm sorry." He looks like he's going to start crying again, so I pull him into my arms and hug him.

"How?" he whispers and though I don't think he's really talking to me, I answer.

"Well, sometimes when a mommy and a daddy really love each other-"

He cuts me off. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," I kiss his forehead. Pulling out of my arms, he sits on the other side of the couch.

"How are you so calm?"
"Well," I say toying with my pajama pants' drawstring. "I cried all I could for a good while yesterday when you were at practice."

"Oh," he furrows his brow. It's quiet for a while. "What are we going to do?" he says looking at me and shaking his head.

I pull my legs up to my chest and shake my head too. He heaves a heavy sigh.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes honey," I say. He scoots closer.

"I have a doctor's appointment next Thursday, like the initial appointment, I guess."

He nods and I can tell he's deep in thought. "Can I come?"

"What?" I ask.

"Can I come to the doctor with you?" he says, looking hopeful.

"Uh, I guess," I say. He gives me a giant grin.

"So, you're okay with this?" I say skeptically.

"I guess. I mean, it's not like there's anything we can do about it," he says wrinkling his nose. He shrugs. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"It's okay," I say holding my arms out. He reaches over and hugs me.
"I was just so freaked, like, I don't want you to have to give anything up, like photography, or working, or whatever."

"Really?" I say. I think that's the first time he's ever said something that actually touched me. And not in a dirty way.

"Yeah. I mean, I just want you to be happy," he says, giving me one of the little boy smiles that Billie Joe taught him. I kiss his forehead.

"Yes, you can come to the doctor with me."

***

My appointment is for 8:30. Very early.

"Come on, Lisea, get up!" Tre says shaking me. "You have to go to the doctor, remember? Remember, you said I could come? Remember? Remember?"

"Yes," I mumble. "I remember."

"Well, come on! Let's go!"

***

"Ooh, I've never been in one of these before," he says surveying the waiting room.

"You've never been in a doctor's office," I say flipping through a Women's Health Journal.

"Well, I mean a girl doctor."

"A girl doctor," I chuckle. "How old are you again?"
He holds up six fingers.

"Lisea?" the same nurse who called me the last time calls from the door.

"That's us," I say, putting down the magazine. When I look up Tre's practically sprinting to the back room. The nurse smiles at me.

"He's a little excited," I say. We go through the measure thing, even though I was here last week, and are escorted into an exam room.

"The doctor will be with you soon." The nurse closes the door behind her.
Tre sits on the exam chair.

"Why are there oven mitts on here?" he says playing with the foot rests.
"It's so it's more comfortable when they examine you," I say. He lays back on the chair and puts his feet into the rests.

"Sounds erotic," he grins.

"Come on,"I laugh. "Get off of there."

"Fine," he whines, jumping off. I sit on the exam chair.

"What's this?" he says picking up an demo IUD.

"It's a type of birth control," I say.

"What does it do?"

I laugh. "It keeps you from getting pregnant. They stick it up--"

He drops it on the counter. "Never mind. Ooh, what's this?" He picks up the clear plastic model of 'the female anatomy'. "Hey," he grins at me wiggling his eyebrows as he holds it down at his crotch. He makes obscene thrusts at it.

"TRE!" I shriek. "Stop or I'll make you wait in the car!"

He smiles at me and puts it down before continuing around the room until he turns to me with his eyes bugged out. "Oh my god," he points to a particularly graphic poster. Clearly embarrassed, he sits down in the other chair and stares at the floor.

"Didn't know what that looked like, huh?" I giggle.

"Didn't want to know," he says. He won't take his eyes off the floor.

"Hi," the doctor says entering the room. "Sorry about the wait."

"No problem," I say. "This is Tre."

"Hello," she holds out her hand. He shakes it without looking.

"Hi."

"So, you're here for your initial OB appointment, correct?" she says looking over the chart she's holding.

"Yup," I say.

"Well, lets start with blood pressure and go from there."

"Okay," I say taking off my jacket.

"Are you going to do an ultrasound thingy?" Tre asks, suddenly re-interested.

"Um, eventually, but not today. It's too early to see anything." Luckily the doctor is patient with his questions.

"When will it not be too early?" He says.

"Probably in a month or two," the doctor says writing my blood pressure down on the chart. " She's only six weeks along."

"Oh," both me and Tre say.

"You didn't know how far along you were?" the doctor says.

"How's she supposed to know?" Tre asks. The doctor smiles at me.

"I just wasn't sure," I say.

"So, how have you been feeling," she asks. "Any morning sickness?"

"She throws up all the time," Tre says fiddling with stuff on the counter again.
I nod. "Yeah. It's almost every morning."

"Okay, well, hopefully that will be ending by the second trimester, but sometimes it goes longer." I nod again.

"We should start the exam now," she says taking out some instruments from a drawer. I look over at Tre. I'm really not comfortable with him being in here for this part.

"Tre," I say. His head snaps around and he wiggles his eyebrows at me.

"Could you go wait in the hall?"

"Why?"

"Please?"

"But why?" he says.

"Don't worry, we'll call you back in," the doctor says.

"Okay," he sighs and leaves.

"Sorry about him," I say.

"Don't worry. You're actually quite lucky."

"Lucky?" I ask.

"Yes. A lot of the time, women in your situation don't get support from the father," she says ,beginning the exam. Guh.

"I thought he wouldn't be," I sigh. "But I was wrong."

When she's finished, she calls opens the door and calls for Tre. He comes galloping in with a handfull of pamphlets and grins at me.

"So, I'm going to give you a prescription for some prenatal vitamins," she says writing on a pad.

"Why?" Tre asks. I sigh.

"Oh, it's no big deal, just a good idea to make sure the baby and mom stay healthy."
"Oh, okay," he s
ays.
"And Lorraine will be able to schedule your next appointment."

"Thanks," I say as she leaves the room.

"Who's Lorraine?" Tre asks.

"Do you ever shut up?" I laugh. "Let's go."

"Who's Lorraine?" he asks again.

"She's the secretary."

"Oh." We go to make my appointment.

"You can wait in the car," I say pecking him on his cheek.

"Bye!" he waves to the office ladies.

"Bye dear!" they call after him.

"Hey, I'm sorry about him," I say.

"Oh, it's no problem," Lorraine says. "He's a sweetheart."

"He's very inquisitive," one of the other ladies says.

"Yeah," I laugh. "You could say that."

"Well, we all love him," Lorraine says. "You can bring him back anytime."

"When are we going to tell people?" he asks as I get into the car.

"Um, I want to wait a little bit," I say.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he says starting the car. "You work today?"

"Yeah, from one to five."

"Oh, that's short," he says. "I've got to do band stuff, but you wanna do something after you work?"

"Yeah, sure."

"How about I pick you up? Then we could do something?"
"Sounds good," I say.

"And no Mike or Billie Joe," he grins at me.

"Sounds great," I laugh.
***

When I get off work, Tre's waiting for me in front of the store.

"Ready?" he says.

"Can we go home so I can change?" I ask. "I smell like cookie store."

"Yup," he says.

"What do you want to do?" he asks as I'm getting changed.

"I don't know. I'm not really hungry."

"Nope, me neither. Wanna..." he bites his lip in thought. "I don't know. Wanna go to Target or something?"

"Yeah, I haven't been there in a good while."

"Want me to drive?" He asks.

"Yeah, I guess." We pile into the car and head to Target.

"We have such shitty radio," he says fiddling around with the radio.
"Yeah, I know," I say looking in the mirror. "It pretty much sucks. Just pick something though."

He sighs and settles on a station. "Hey, yeah, that was some great music from those fine young ladies TLC," the announcer booms.

"I hate DJs," he groans. "They suck ass."

I laugh. "Really?"

"Ugh, yes." He turns into the Target parking lot. "Ah, the crimson paradise that is Target."

"It seems a little Communist, with all the red," I laugh.

"YEAH!" he squeals. "Communism!" We wander around Target for a while before he complains, "I'm hungry."

"Let's go get something," I say.

"Okay," he sighs.

"What?"

"I'll miss you, dirty Commie," he says to the building.

"Yes, it'll miss you too." I laugh.