She waddled, hands placed on her lower back on either side of her spine trying to relive some pressure. Her huge belly jutted out in front of her, her belly button visible beneath the stretched fabric. Her feet were killing her and the bus wasn’t due for thirty more minutes. Being pregnant was not conducive to the ease of public transportation. A few more weeks the doctors had said and she should pop this little darling (whom she dearly loved, but she missed seeing her toes) out. It had always been her versus the world and soon it would be her versus the world plus one (an innocent, helpless plus one). She trembled from fear or excitement or maybe pure exhaustion she did know. Probably D) all of the above.
She needed to sit down before she fell down. The bus bench was occupied by a lone man, on the right of him was a liquid substance that looked like puke, the left his collection of bags.
Annoyance rose at the possibility of having to speak to the stranger. She hoped he’d notice the big belly and do the right thing.
She moussed into his field of vision. His eyes were focused on the book clasped in his hands, the front cover bent over, his right finger slid beneath the next page prepared to flip once his eyes finished their journey downward.
Well shit, she hated to interrupt people when reading. Her feet throbbed, her back ached, her daughter kicked. She didn’t hate it that much.
She gave a gentle sigh to garner his attention.
Nothing.
She released a very lady-like pained grunt.
Nothing.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
She was ready to snatch the book from his hands and smash it onto the floor and grind it beneath her swollen feet. And she was not one to damage books.
“Excuse me, sir?” she said with aggressive authority, waving a hand between him and the page.
The lines of his face shifted into surprise then anger at being interrupted, and he glanced over the top of his glasses to glare at her.
“What?” he growled, his deep blue eyes piercing her with fire.
“Would you mind moving your belongings so I may sit?” Her voice matching his in brimstone, she tacked a forced smile on the end, making sure to include teeth.
“No.” His eyes returned to the page.
“You want to run that by me again, Fu-, Buster!”
“There’s puke beneath the bench, and I need this stuff close so I can keep track of it while reading.”
“Oh well then, glad to know your book and bags outrank me.”
“Standing never killed anyone.”
His book had remained at eye level for their conversation and she had a strong suspicion he couldn’t see anything but her face. As if that was an excuse, she still expected decent treatment when she wasn’t pregnant. Thank you very much.
“Shithead, I am about to fall over.”
The book came down at her profanity and he looked ready to give her a tongue lashing. His eyes bulged at the sight of her stomach.
“Crap.” A light pink flush crawled its way up his checks. Embarrassment well at least there’s that, she thought bitterly.
“Her ears have developed she can hear you, asshole.”
He didn’t answer simply slide his arm into his backpack strap, hefting up as he stood. Next, he grabbed his plastic suitcase lifting it past the vomit and a safe distance away before coming back for a small parcel and a stack of books. How he had gotten that all there in the first place was beyond her.
She also now realized he was a huge man, well over 6 foot towering over her, a backpack hanging low off one arm, hand filled with a brown parcel and a stack of books in the other, his finger still marking his place in his novel. He stepped past her, and she sank down with a relieved groan.
He looked a bit lost about what do with all his stuff.
“You can leave it, you know. I am not goanna steal it, I am not sure I’ll ever be able to get myself off this bench again, anyway.”
A smile quirked at his lips.
“But I claim the suitcase as a footrest.” The smile slipped as his eyebrow rose, but she could see amusement in his eyes. He settled his belongings beside her and set the suitcase at her feet.
“I was joking” He left it, her feet found themselves quite comfortably elevated.
After a few minutes of silence, he spoke, “Sorry. I tend to get nasty when my reading is interrupted.”
“I get it.”
They lapsed into silence.
Joined at the Authorship 