The Storm (Fairhope) (17 page)

I glared at him, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “Watch out. Sometimes I open my mouth, and your mother comes out.”

“She got you there, man.” Ashton laughed out loud, slapping his hand on the table dramatically.

Our chuckles faded and his face sobered. “Let’s get right to the point since Andrew has an appointment. Sounds like you have quite an issue on your hands.”

Goodbye carbohydrate-induced dopamine rush, hello familiar nausea. Every time I opened my mouth to talk about “it,” I couldn’t believe “it” was really happening. Gender discrimination: a thing of the past? Not so much.

I spilled my Covington Company saga to Ashton, who listened intently at full attention. Fat, hormone-induced tears rolled down my round cheeks around sentence number three.

Ashton jotted notes as I spoke, asking questions every so often to clarify details and sequences of events. By the time I finished, his eyes were wide with astonishment, and he wore the expression of utter sympathy that I hated.

“Wow,” he said finally. “Your manager’s an asshole. Has this happened with anyone else?”

I vaguely remembered a girl’s story on Jeff’s team a few years back. “Yes.” I paused as Ashton shook his head in disbelief. “I know a girl on his team last year got put on a performance improvement plan a week before she went out on maternity leave. From what I remember, she always performed well. She was fired two weeks after getting back from work.”

I felt my pulse speeding up. Why hadn’t I thought about that before?
Idiot!
I needed to give her a call…

“But,” I added abruptly, “it’s easy for him to slide by with ridding himself of me. The way this is going down will make it seamless for him. The assessment that determines who stays and who goes is 100% subjective.”

“Unbelievable,” Ashton muttered, straightening his tie. “If that is the case, their legal department has probably approved it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t prove your case. Report this to HR if you haven’t already. If your doctor believes your pregnancy complications are stress related, get that in writing.”

An image of Kevin Matthews walking away from me in the airport flashed through my mind. “Our human resources representative never got back to me after our discussion.”

The waitress pranced up to our table, her eyes lingering a bit too long on Andrew’s sexy frame. I think she actually licked her lips before she took our order. Frenzied with the possession of a crazy pregnant wife, I placed my hand on his leg, trickling my fingers up and down his thigh.

Ashton nodded as she walked away, shaking her hips slightly. “Although they
have
made direct comments to you about your pregnancy, it is your word against theirs, so a case would be circumstantial. You can’t sign any severance agreement … they hold up in court.”

He folded his arms on the table and pushed his half-finished plate aside. “You certainly have a case, and I want you guys to get the best representation possible. We have been successful with racial and age discrimination cases, but not gender. They are tough to win, but can be done. Covington Company is a monster; it’s no starter case. I’m going to ask my bosses for a reference to a lawyer who specializes in gender discrimination. Birmingham has one famous for being a hotshot in discrimination cases. Singletary, maybe? I will find out for you.”

I left the restaurant with my head spinning. I met Ashton because Andrew insisted … sort of hoping he would discourage Andrew from his plight for justice. Instead, I felt my blood boiling at the injustice of what had befallen me, burning out my self-made label of being “not the suing type.”

Was I seriously considering suing Covington?

My obstetrician’s office smelled like baby formula. The Similac rep must have just left, because at least a dozen cases of ready-made Similac Advance formula cascaded along the back wall of the waiting room. I saw dripping outside one of the lower cases, alas the culprit of the smell. After the reminder of how much I hated the smell of baby formula, I decided that perhaps breastfeeding wouldn’t be such a chore after all.

I know I looked awful; I had barely scrounged up the energy to slap on a thin coat of makeup and straighten my hair with the skill of a five-year-old. My hair had not been trimmed since I glimpsed the purple plus sign, and my unmistakably split ends were tattling on me. There was no time for haircuts. All extra time went to naps, bingeing sessions with Grace, and the occasional massage for Andrew—the kind without a happy ending.

“Jana Marie Cook,” called the nurse, my thick chart in her manly hands. She peered at Andrew and me over her mousy eyeglasses, leaning on the door with one stubby foot jutted out in front of her. No smile. Must have been a long day so far for her, too.

“You are one sexy momma. Pregnancy becomes you,” Andrew murmured softly as he helped me walk up the stairs. He pressed his body against mine, and I bristled at his warmth. Damn. The blow job resurrection would have to come sooner rather than later. I groaned silently. Jana the nymphomaniac had once again vanished roundabout week thirty, and a fat, mad pregnant woman took her place. My Kindle was loaded with titles like
Surviving the Third Trimester
instead of
Fatal Seduction
.

Andrew deserved to be satisfied, and I could stomach a few minutes of oohs and ahhs, eyes seductively floating upward and pretending to like it to make sure he was well pleasured. My feelings for Andrew intensified every moment as he stood firmly by my side, helping me find beauty in the ashes of my downward career spiral. Nothing sexier than a man who worked hard to take care of his woman, and he treated me like the queen I never was.

I groaned as said agitated nurse wrapped the thick blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“I predict this will be ugly,” I moaned.
Thump, thump
, went the sound of my blood pulsating.

She scowled darkly. “Very ugly. One fifty over ninety. And your pulse—one forty two. That’s not good, either.” She raised the thin eyebrows that crowned her beady eyes. “Are you still eating salty foods?”

I nodded guilty and hung my head. “I’ve really cut back.”

Andrew sighed, leaning back against the door. “What does that mean for her?”

“It means,” the nurse replied matter-of-factly, “probably permanent bed rest this time. It’s up to Dr. Wilson to make that decision.”

Bed rest it was. Dr. Wilson took one look at my chart after he walked in my patient room and shook his head. “Jana, this is not good. We need Baby Cook to ‘cook’ for two more weeks, at least.” His calloused, thick hand rested on my bony shoulder. “Bed rest it is, Jana.”

What is Jeff going to say?

“Is the baby okay?” I sputtered next, fighting back tears.

I was already lying down on the examination table, and Dr. Wilson pulled out an instrument designed to find the baby’s heartbeat. Within seconds, a strong, fluttering beat burst through, and Andrew’s expression mirrored my audible sigh of relief.

“She’s fine,” Dr. Wilson said reassuringly. “But resting is imperative. With blood pressure that high, Calla is likely to make an early entrance.” He paused. “Did you follow my instructions from our last visit?”

I pictured having to call Kevin and sign up for short term disability and decided there was no way in hell that was happening. My pay would be cut in half for what was likely the last few weeks of it, and I refused to risk the financial loss.

“Yes, I did follow them,” I lied, feeling like he could see straight through me. As hard as I tried to be still, my body ached to move.

Andrew’s voice was loud, too loud. “Maybe she will get better if she’s away from those unrelenting assholes.”

“Are things still not going well at work?” Dr. Wilson inquired, concerned.

“No. I’m fairly certain my days are numbered.” Jeff did not even have me on his calendar for December.

Dr. Wilson frowned, gazing at me with the tenderness of a father consoling a child after her first tumble off the training wheel-less bicycle. “There’s no doubt in my mind that your work issues are exacerbating your pregnancy complications. Hopefully, removing you from some of this stress will at least keep you from worsening.” He leaned forward, looking me squarely in the face. “No job is worth your health or the health of your child. Do your best to rest.”

The nurse exited the room, the fancy blood pressure monitor trailing behind her. I stared at the paperwork Dr. Wilson gave me, ordering bed rest.

“Your company has made their decisions,” Andrew spoke tersely, steadying me as we trudged down the stairs to the car, seeming to read the bitter thoughts written in my mind. “All you can do now is rest and wait.”

I used vacation days until “the” day. I did not care that it meant less paid days post-downsizing. With disdain, I pictured Jeff’s fake pretenses of concern if I were to actually claim bed rest, and imagined Brooke’s taunts that no one would be brave enough to repeat:
Oh, please, bed rest? She’s milking the system. She needs to suck it up; there’s nothing wrong with her. Maybe she thinks that will save her from being laid off.

My first “vacation” day ended with me gritting my teeth and showcasing my excellent acting skills throughout my first baby shower. Julianne, who stepped up to host the small invitation list of Covington employees, rented out a private room at an elegant restaurant in town and decorated it like a pro. She wanted to throw a gender reveal party, but I refused. Too busy to keep up with the latest “first baby” trends, Andrew and I had skipped the budding tradition of the gender reveal party. I remembered Katie Klein Carpenter’s, which I begrudgingly attended. Katie, my high school nemesis, barely showing and spry with energy since she’d quit her job, bought the largest sheet cake I’d ever seen. Unfortunately, the bakery screwed up and dyed the white cake a strawberry-toned pink instead of baby blue. I stifled a snicker when snobby Katie bawled pathetically in front of all her guests. Alas, the devastation of the mistaken gender and the resulting social ruin!

Brooke, who had declined Julianne’s reluctant invitation initially, pranced in unannounced as I began opening gifts.

“Jana!” she exclaimed, self-consciously messing with her un-tucked blouse. Her normally flawless mane looked like she’d stuck her hand in an electric socket. Hmmm. I wondered what Jeff looked like about right then. “I heard something was wrong with you.”

I glared at Julianne.
Did you tell her?
I mouthed.

“No, but I
had
to invite her,” Julianne apologized under her breath as Brooke took her seat. “The invitation list was all Covington colleagues. Your boss would have shit if I’d left her out.”

Turning my focus from the rep who gave me an adorable monogrammed diaper rag, I faced Brooke without a smile. “I’m fine. My blood pressure’s high, that’s all.”

“Are you still supposed to be resting?” Brooke added her fancy-wrapped gift to the pile.

Her strong perfume polluted the small room, and I tried not to sneeze. The image of her running her professionally manicured fingernails up Jeff’s thigh under the table at a recent dinner twisted my face into a disgusted scowl.

I nodded but offered no further details, quickly gushing over an adorable ballerina outfit and a much-wanted Diaper Genie. “This is perfect!” Holding up the outfit with a giggle, everyone oohed and ahhed.

“I am so, so sorry that you’re going through this,” Brooke said with feigned sympathy, pulling up a chair between Julianne and me. The screech turned the heads of the patrons dining beside us. “What an awful time for you to have pregnancy complications, right before layoffs. So, what
exactly
is wrong with you?”

She refused to let it go.

The red popped into Julianne’s cheeks in the blink of an eye. She cleared her throat loudly. “Jana, you haven’t even tasted your cake yet,” she interrupted. “It’s absolutely scrumptious.”

I ignored Brooke and capsized a bite of the best cake I’d ever tasted, relishing its sweetness. “Wow!” I said with a mouth full of icing. “This is spectacular!”

Brooke shot me a distasteful look, honing in on the stray icing polluting my right cheek. She wasn’t going to tell me, and I didn’t care that it was there.