History Lesson

Jenny gave me a grateful look for covering her white lie and squeezed my hand.

With that, we got started. Week Three was a bit of a revelation, and I am sure I was blushing through most of it. I was fine when the discussion focused on relaxation techniques and breathing exercises, but when the topic moved to pain management... well, Jenny and I realized that I would be getting perhaps a bit more familiar with her than we had anticipated.

Helping her find a comfortable position? No problem. A gentle shoulder massage? Well, I did say that I had her back earlier, didn't I? Who knew it would be literally? Then Megan talked about counter-pressure. Umm. You want me to press where? Oh, lower back and hips. I looked at Jenny, and she looked at me. Yes, we could manage that.

Then it got much, much worse. Leg and thigh massage. Sacral massage. Sure, if it was being done during labor, there was nothing sexual about it at all. But practicing those techniques, even over her clothes... Blargh.

I leaned close to her and whispered insistently, "Jenny, I'm not sure about this... shouldn't Sheila..."

She hissed back, "Of course, but she's not here! Damn it Ieuan, she's made it clear that I can't count on her." Her tone softened. "And I know I can count on you. So, suck it up and rub my butt," she smirked, but she was blushing.

"Yes dear, if you insist," I said obediently. But when the instructor started discussing perineal massage, I threw my hands up. Na, no, non, nein, nyet. To be fair, Jenny was bright red too. Fortunately, we weren't asked to simulate that... uhh... technique.

After that baptism by fire, so to speak, things settled down and we worked well together through the remaining classes. I felt like we bonded a little more as well; but really, how could we not, after sharing such an intimate experience. I felt bad for Jenny that Sheila was missing out, but all she said was, "After she missed the second session, I never asked her to go again and she never mentioned it. I said it before, Ieuan. You're the one I count on."

><><><><><

I had missed the faculty Christmas party because of my trip to Wales, and for some reason, Rogers decided I had to make up for it. He let me know that he was throwing a National Hat Day party, and my attendance was mandatory.

I looked at him blankly. "Surely that's not a thing," I mused.

"I looked it up. It's most definitely a thing," he replied.

Shaking my head, I asked, "So how does one celebrate Hat Day?"

He stared at me as if I was one of his less-gifted students. "My house, next Friday at 8 p.m. Wear a hat." I rolled my eyes as he continued, "Make it something interesting. I've invited Jenny and Sheila," he threw in, before slipping out of my office.

I guess I've heard of worse reasons for a party. Talking about strange hats would be an icebreaker, I reasoned. If a little puerile.

At our lunch, Jenny was secretive about her headwear choice. "It's nothing fancy, I just want it to be a surprise." That was fine with me.

Friday found me looking for parking on the street near Rogers' home. He had purchased, and over several years, renovated an old Federal-style home. Now it was the epitome of understated elegance. I stood in the small entry portico for a moment, admiring the restored Ionic columns, when the front door opened. An explosion of sound followed it.

"Ieuan, I thought I saw you out here lurking. Come in!" He was wearing a tuxedo, complete with tails, a cane, and a top hat.

"Let me guess," I said. "Gatsby? A bit predictable for you."

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but it fits the theme. And I had the outfit already."

I laughed. "Fair enough."

He looked at me, his eyes rising to... "What is that thing on your head?"

"Well... I was considering traditional Welsh, but they just look stupid." Sorry, tadcu. "So, I went with Crocodile Dundee!" It was a black outback hat with a crocodile leather band that had crocodile teeth stuck in it. I'm sure I looked ridiculous. But it was certainly better than an oversized pilgrim hat.

I mingled for a while, talking to other people from the university. Rogers had a much wider social circle than I, and there were a lot of unfamiliar faces. I was doing my best when I felt a touch on my arm.

"Jenny!" My smile was instantaneous. "Sheila, hi! Glad you could come!"

"G'day, mate," Sheila said dryly, looking at my head, and I chuckled. I glanced at her ubiquitous watch cap, and she shrugged. "Hey, it's a hat."

Jenny, looking very cute, and a little proud of herself, explained that she was wearing a traditional Austrian hunting hat, in green felt. She looked very smart. I caught myself getting a little warm and took a gulp of my drink when I found myself wondering what she'd look like in a dirndl.

It was as though Rogers could read my mind; he smirked at me. We chatted, then went off to mingle. It was a good party. A good mix of people, and I found myself discussing the women's basketball team's chances with their head coach. She was wearing a multi-colored beanie, complete with propeller. I resisted the urge to reach out and give it a twirl.

Then I somehow became involved in a conversation about recent advances in genome sequencing with an enthusiastic group of young biology professors. I'll be honest, most of it went right over my head, but they cheerfully dumbed it down for me. They seemed very excited about its applications in the field of personalized medicine. And they had clearly coordinated their hat choices - they were all wearing knit caps in the form of various Sesame Street characters.

"Imagine," said Kermit - err, Dr. Baker (call me Sue, please!), "Imagine that a patient has cancer, and it can be traced to a specific set of genetic markers. If we know that person's genetic makeup, we can tailor efforts to target those specific markers, which results in a more effective treatment, with fewer side effects."

"Wow, sounds very promising!"

"Absolutely. I've become more and more interested in biomedical research, and I'm trying to convince the dean that we should expand further in that area."

"Good luck with that; I wish you well! Sue, it was a pleasure meeting you." I meant it, and she nodded at me, smiling. I left her with her colleagues.

Wandering out to the backyard patio, I found a portly older man in a bejeweled turban holding court. I never got a word in edgewise, but was thoroughly entertained listening to his stories. Turns out he was the producer for the local dinner theater, and in his long career, he had seen in all. I left in stitches.

As I headed back inside to refill my drink, Jenny caught up with me.

"Having a good time?" I asked. She grasped my arm and kissed me on the cheek. My heart skipped a beat, but I knew she was just in a good mood.

"So much!" she admitted.

"Rogers usually throws a few every year. And I guarantee you're on the short list now," I teased. "This is pretty mild for him."

"Wow, if this is mild, I' don't know if I could handle a full-blown one!"

I looked at her empty glass. "Can I get you anything? I need a refill myself."

"Oh, yes please; Rogers has a lot of non-alcoholic drinks, and some of those snacks... so amazing! I'll come with." And she latched back onto my arm. We made our way toward the kitchen, and Jenny perused the drink selection in the enormous double refrigerator, while I piled some treats onto a plate.

Hors d'oeuvres sorted, I started to look for Jenny, when I saw Sheila in the dining room, talking to a dark-haired woman in a tiara. Not the same one I'd seen before, but the resemblance was there. Anyway, Sheila was standing quite close, and her hand was on the woman's arm.

Jenny appeared at my side. I glanced at her, and she was staring at Sheila, her eyes flat. My good mood evaporated as well; I hated that Sheila seemed to be oblivious to how her actions affected Jenny.

The woman saw us and murmured something. Sheila dropped her hand and took a step back, turning. She plastered a smile on her face, said something to the woman, and then started toward us.

Before she arrived, Rogers appeared out of nowhere.

He took Jenny's hand, and said gently, "My dear... 'This above all: to thine own self be true. And it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.'" He paused briefly, then added, "Or woman."

I'm sure Sheila heard him.

><><><><><

February

One afternoon in early February, I was having lunch with Jenny. Sheila, as usual, had declined.

"So, you two have something special planned for St. Valentine's?" I asked.

Jenny shrugged; her expression carefully neutral. "I was waiting to see if Sheila wanted to do something but so far, she hasn't mentioned anything."

"Well, what if you were to do something for her?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No way. Sheila hates surprises. I tried to give her a surprise birthday party once and she didn't talk to me for a week. I'll never make that mistake again."

"Wow, that's extreme."

"I know, right?" Jenny looked at me. "What about you?"

"What about me?" I asked her, confused.

"Any plans?"

"Me? No." I couldn't bring myself to tell her that since Olivia died, all holidays had lost their meaning. Especially that one.

"Just... no?"

"Jenny, when have I ever mentioned dating anyone, much less being interested enough to make romantic plans?" I said it a little too sharply.

She looked down. "Sorry," she said softly.

Now I felt like a git. "No, don't be sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just... holidays are still hard for me, even after all this time."

Now she got it, and her eyes got big. "Oh... Ieuan! Now I'm really sorry. I didn't even think..."

I got up and went around to her side and hugged her. "Please don't. It's ok. You've helped me out of my shell quite a bit." I pulled back and looked her in the eye.

"Tell you what. If Sheila doesn't step up, you and I can have a nice dinner instead."

She nodded sadly. Looking at her despondent face, I made a decision.

><><><><><

"Sheila, hi, it's Ieuan."

"Um, hey dude, what's up?"

"Listen, I was just wondering... I have a couple of tickets for La bohème at the Kennedy Center, and I can't use them. It's on Valentine's Day, and I thought you might like to take Jenny. I know it's short notice, and you probably already have something planned, but I hate to see these tickets go to waste."

It had cost me quite a large favor with the head of the school's music department to get these tickets, but there was no way I was going to let Sheila know that. I knew Jenny would love the opera, so it was worth it.

Until I heard Sheila say, "La what?"

Facepalm. "Uhh... La bohème? The opera?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I thought you said something else. Yeah cool, Jenny loves that stuff. Thanks, dude."

"Great. If you swing by during my office hours, you can grab them. I appreciate you taking them off my hands."

><><><><><

We had another lunch date a couple of days later. Jenny ran to me - well, as much as a very pregnant woman can run - and threw her arms around my neck.

"Thank you," she whispered in my ear. "It was wonderful!"

I tried unsuccessfully to play dumb. "Not that I don't love your hugs Jen, but I don't know what-"

"Oh, stop it." She smacked my arm as she interrupted my pathetic attempt at dissembling. "I know her, and there's NO way Sheila got opera tickets on her own. Don't worry, I acted like it was her idea. Heck, at least she came with me. And didn't complain too much," she added with a chuckle.

"Guess I'd make a lousy spy, huh?" I grinned.

"The worst." She hugged me again. "Thank you again. I loved it."

"I knew you would," I murmured, holding her close.

And... enter Rogers, stage left. "Loved what, my dear?"

I think we both jumped, but it was Jenny who squeaked, "Oh!"

He grinned as we separated, and he greeted her with a buss on the cheek, then gave me a casual salute.

Recovered, Jenny said, "The opera. Ieuan got tickets for Sheila and me for La bohème." She mock-scowled, and continued, "He was just trying to convince me that Sheila got them on her own."

"And we've decided that Rowan Atkinson would be better at subterfuge than me," I self-mockingly continued.

"Probably true." He gave me one of his looks, where Jenny couldn't see. "But La bohème on Valentine's Day! Comme c'est romantique!" He clutched his hands to his heart and fluttered his lashes.

I couldn't help but laugh, but still rolled my eyes.

Jenny scolded, "French, Rogers? Puccini is Italian!"

"Yes, but 'Che romantico' doesn't sound nearly as elegant."

It was Jenny's turn to roll her eyes.

He saw her, pursed his lips, and said, "Everything sounds better in French."

Jenny looked skeptical.

"I'll prove it." He got up and went down on one knee in front of her. We were starting to gather some attention.

Undeterred, he took one of her hands in both of his, gave her a smoldering look, and growled, "Je viens de m'agenouiller dans une crotte de chien."

Jenny stared, wide-eyed.

I was unable to contain a snort of laughter, and Jenny turned to give me a puzzled look. "What did he say?"

Still laughing, I replied, "Well, my French is a little rusty, but I'm pretty sure he said, 'I just knelt in dog poop."

Jenny gawped, as he got up, leaned back in his chair, and crossed one leg over the other. Then she threw her napkin at him.

"Je mets fin à mon cas," he grinned.

><><><><><

Chapter 7

March

I could tell Jenny was getting increasingly nervous as her due date approached. She tried to be brave, but she was young, it was her first, and her support system comprised Sheila, me, and Hank. Hank arguably being the most stable of the lot.

She still visited occasionally, and he had developed the habit of resting his head on her knee while she stroked his turncoat head.

"Really, Hank?" I said one early evening in early March. He was milking it for all he was worth. He had his eyes closed and he was almost purring.

He opened one eye and looked at me, then closed it again.

I laughed. "Jenny, if I put my head in your lap, will you pet me too?"

She giggled. "Nope. All head pats are for Hank."

I swear, he smirked at me. Then he jerked his head up and whined.

Jenny got a look on her face, and one hand went to her belly. Hank stood up and chuffed, looking back and forth between us.

"Umm, Ieuan..." Jenny's voice was anxious. "I think maybe you should drive me to the hospital now."

I blinked.

"Ieuan? I think my water broke."

I blinked again.

"Ieuan!"

I jumped. "Right! Hospital! Baby! On it!" I ran for the door.

"Ieuan?"

"Huh? Oh, of course, sorry!" I ran back to her and helped her up. Took a deep breath. "Okay, what do you need? Never mind, tell me on the way."

I grabbed her purse, then walked her out to the truck, one hand around her waist and the other holding one of hers. We started the short drive to the hospital, and she called Sheila's cell.

"Shit! Voicemail. She must have a study group; she usually turns it off." She winced as a contraction hit her.

"Leave her a message, and please don't worry; I've got you."

She squeezed my hand through the contraction.

"Bad?" I asked, as we neared the entrance.

"Not too bad," she panted.

"How long since the last one?" I asked.

"Not sure," she admitted. "I've been feeling crampy, but I guess I didn't realize what it was. Baby's not due for ten more days," she added nervously.

"Don't worry," I reassured her. "That's not anything to be concerned about. Trust me, I am a doctor, after all."

"Oh my god, you're an idiot is what you are," she was able to laugh.

I grinned at her, as we pulled up to the curb. I ran around to her side and helped her out. When we got inside, I hollered for a wheelchair.

She was whisked off, and I was left to check her in. "Peidiwch â phoeni - gah, sorry, I mean don't worry, Jen; I'll be right down. You're doing great, sweetie!" I shouted after her. Sweetie? Where did that come from?

The receptionist smiled as I started filling out paperwork. "Your first?" she asked.

It was easier to just go along. "Umm, yes."

She was an older woman, perhaps late 40s. "Well don't you worry; this happens all the time. Everything will be fine."

"Thanks. But it doesn't happen all the time to me," I smiled weakly.

She just winked at me. "All done with those forms? Great. Just follow the signs to Obstetrics and one of the nurses there can point you in the right direction. Good luck, honey."

"Thanks again." I looked around for the correct sign and started down the hall. As I walked, I left a message for Rogers. I knew he'd grown fond of Jenny too, and we had both promised to let him know when her time came.

I eventually found the right place and was directed to Jenny's room. She immediately held out her hand to me, and I went to her. Her eyes were wide, but she was otherwise trying to stay calm, and doing a good job.

"You're doing great, Jen. Proud of you," I told her. "Uhh, let me just leave another message for Sheila with your room number, 'k?"

She nodded, and I retrieved my hand from her grasp. I dialed, got her voicemail again, and told Sheila where we were. Message delivered; Jenny reclaimed my hand. I stroked the hair out of her face gently and started on the gentle massage we had been taught in class to help her relax.

She smiled at me gratefully, then winced as another contraction came. Doing my best to remember what we'd learned, I coached her through it. I maintained eye contact, as she squeezed my hand. I could only hope that it helped. The nurse checked her watch and said it had been twenty minutes since the last one.

"Getting close!" I whispered. She was looking at me, continuing to work on her breathing, and I continued the massage, making small talk, trying to distract her. The nurse smiled and said she was doing great.

Eventually, I'm not sure how long after I'd called, Sheila showed up.

"Sorry I'm late babes," and to be fair, she did look apologetic. For what that was worth. But when she saw me sitting beside Jenny, applying counterpressure to her hip with one hand, and my other hand shoved behind her, massaging the base of her spine, her expression turned dark.

Jenny saw. "Stop it right now, Sheila. You couldn't be bothered to come to Lamaze, so don't get mad at Ieuan for doing what you should have been."

The nurse's stare hardened, as her gaze moved from Sheila to me. "Is there going to be a problem?"

"Absolutely not," I promised.

Tight-lipped, Sheila spat, "No problem."

The nurse eyed her. "I'm telling you right now, there's still probably a few hours until the baby is ready. If I hear one raised voice that doesn't belong to Jenny, you're out of here." She was looking at Sheila.

"Me? But I'm her partner!"

"That may be, but clearly, he-" and she pointed at me, "is her Lamaze coach."

If looks could kill!

We had an uncomfortable time together, the three of us, as Jenny's contractions got closer and closer together. I tried to minister to Jenny while telling Sheila what I was doing and why I was doing it. I think it helped, and we began to share some of the hand-holding and brow-wiping.

I had lost track of the time when the nurse checked Jenny's dilation and decided it was time to head to the delivery room. Only one of us could go, so Sheila went with her while I stepped outside.