“Stay Home, Stay Safe,” by Laura Hulthen Thomas (Fiction ’14)
Fiction alum Laura Hulthen Thomas was recently featured in FailBetter. Read an excerpt of “Stay Home, Stay Safe” below:
Stay Home, Stay Safe
Even before the stay-at-home order that spring, Jen’s latest pregnancy had threatened to lock her down. She’d thought stress and fatigue were bringing on her headaches, but her twenty-six week check-up revealed her blood pressure was high. If it continued to spike, she’d have to go on bedrest. She couldn’t very well deliver groceries from her mattress, she’d pointed out. Her doctor thought Jen was joking, but this little guy had exhausted her sense of humor. Now that the pandemic was forcing her to sit around most of the day helping the kids with remote schooling, it was harder to distract herself from the baby’s constant kicking. Her headaches were better, but he never settled down for a moment. What felt like perfect somersaults pushed acid up her throat every few minutes. Plus, she’d never stopped spotting after about week seven, when she’d braced for a miscarriage. So, maybe she had it backwards? Maybe her body was a danger to this baby, and here she was, some mother, blaming him for battling to be born.
To make it all worse, Michael, who was really Robert’s dog and barely gave Jen the time of day outside of mealtimes, had turned clingy since the lockdown. He’d leap in her lap while she helped the kids fill out the worksheets their teachers had assigned during the morning’s Zoom sessions. As she colored shapes with Daniel, formed letters with Rebekah, watched Rosemary work her algebra, since Jen couldn’t help out with any math more advanced than long division, Michael would plop his full Labrador weight on her knees and lick her silly. No amount of pushing him off and no, Michaels, and banishments to the back yard, where he promptly set to barking at the snotty neighbor woman with the unpronounceable last name, would make him leave her alone.
Maybe her stomach acid smelled like raw wieners.
Or maybe, she thought as she leaned in to guide Rebekah in a cursive h and Michael slathered a kiss, he was trying to get her to lighten up.
“Why does my name end in h?” Rebekah asked. “I can’t even hear it.”
Before Jen could answer, Rosemary looked up from a string of mysterious alphanumerics. “It’s Biblical.”
“Does the Bible say why we can’t hear it?”
Rosemary deadpanned, “Yes, it does.”
This from the daughter who’d declared herself an atheist last month. “Your sister is just kidding. I thought your name looked pretty with an h. An extra special something you don’t have to hear to know is there.”
“Like God. Which is Biblical.” With a quick glance back down at the problem, Rosemary easily solved for x.
“I can’t hear any h in God.” Daniel looked up from the triangles he was supposed to be coloring with primary shades. Burnt sienna wasn’t primary. Neither was raw umber. Would his teacher mark him down? Why were they giving kindergarteners marks, anyway, especially now?
“There isn’t, honey,” Jen told him. “What your sister means is that you don’t have to hear God to know He’s there. Like Rebekah’s h.”
“But you have to see Him, right?” Rebekah was outlining her name with a blue crayon. “I can see my h.”
Rosemary looked at her mother as if daring her to answer for faith on that one. “You just have to see Him once,” Jen answered. Without thinking, obviously. Rosemary’s brows shot up.
“If I draw Him then I can see Him.” Daniel grabbed the Crayon box.
Rebekah stared at her mother anxiously. “When will I see Him, Mom?”
Michael snuggled against her belly. The pressure was calming the baby’s tumbles. For a brief moment, she didn’t feel sick, or panicked. She had no idea why she was being literal about God to her literal-minded young kids. Still, she said, “You will, honey. Everybody does, eventually.”
“But when?”
“Soon.”
Read the rest of this story here: https://www.failbetter.com/content/stay-home-stay-safe
