“If you refuse to leave, you may as well be helpful.”
“You know, I just don’t get it,” I remarked as we made our second circuit together. “What did I do to piss you off so much, Willow? Was it when I refused to leave your side? When I said that you are my reason for living? Or was it when I said I loved you?”
She shot me a withering glare. “Now is not the time to have this discussion.”
“I don’t really see, why not,” I offered in what I hoped was my most reasonable tone. “I mean, we have nothing but time. And this isn’t exactly what I’d call a scenic tour.”
“Because I’m in fucking pain!” Willow burst out. I noticed that none of the nurses or orderlies so much as glanced our way. I assumed that they were used to this kind of behavior from laboring women. “Because this baby is trying to push her way out of my body. And in case you didn’t pick it up, it fucking hurts.”
“I am really sorry about that,” I said, dropping all the teasing from my voice. “If I could change places with you—”
“If you could change places with me, you would’ve run screaming from the hospital three hours ago,” she retorted, stopping and glowering at me. “Come to think of it, I don’t think you would’ve made it through the morning sickness. Or the painful boobs. Or the heartburn. or the Braxton Hicks—”
“All right, all right,” I agreed hastily. “Women are the superior species. I agree. You’re a rock star, Will. You’re a fucking warrior.”
I expected some kind of threatening response to that statement, but when I glanced down at Willow, she wasn’t even looking at me.
“Wait,” she whispered, and as I watched, she gripped my arm in a steel vice. Dropping to her haunches, she curled her body in on itself and made a keening sound from deep inside her body. A nurse passing by us stopped abruptly and tossed the bag she was carrying onto the desk.
“No, no, sweetie, no, no.” She got down on Willow’s level and peered into her face. “Come on, honey. You’re pushing. That means you need to be in your room so someone can catch your baby. The insurance companies frown on us delivering them here in the hallway on the floor.”
I gaped at the both of them. “What did you say? She can’t have the baby here on the floor?”
“That’s what we’re trying to prevent.” With a Herculean effort, the nurse and I managed to hoist Willow to her feet. She was so focused on pushing that she didn’t help at all; as a matter fact, she almost fought us.
We managed to get Willow back to her room and up into the bed, and then everything that had been moving at such a calm and leisurely pace before suddenly went into hyperdrive fast forward. The midwife ran in, putting on a gown and a face mask. Two nurses arrived to break down the bed, turning it into some other kind of contraption. Two other people in scrubs joined us; a nurse, standing next to me, explained that they were from pediatrics.
“Okay, people!” The midwife raised her voice. “It’s time to have a baby!” She finally noticed that Mrs. Casey, Coach, and I were huddled in the corner of the room, trying to stay out of the way. Offering us a broad smile, she began rattling off instructions.
“Grandma, do you want to help on one side of your daughter? And Daddy, you take Mommy’s other side.”
In what felt as though it was the most sitcom-like moment I’d ever experienced, both Coach and I moved toward Willow‘s bedside. We stopped, stared at each other, and then Coach said, “She said for me to… she said daddy…” He trailed off, his forehead wrinkling.
Caroline the midwife noted our confusion and waved to us.
“Grandpa, if you’re staying in the room, get over there with Grandma!” she ordered. “Daddy takes the other side, and both of you help Mom hold her legs up and back. This baby is barreling into the world, and she’s not going to wait for an engraved invitation, or for all of you to get your act together.”
I stood hesitantly next to Willow, not sure if she would accept my help. But just as the next contraction rolled over her and the midwife instructed her to push, she looked up at me, those green eyes suddenly vulnerable and full of fear.
“Dean,” she whispered.
I leaned close, brushing her hair away from her face as I murmured into her ear.
“Willow Casey, you are a rock star. You are a fucking warrior.”
She smiled at me, pressed her cheek against my face, and then crunched her body forward as she pushed our daughter into the world.
* * *
“You’re beautiful.”
I gazed down into my daughter’s face. She was awake and alert, but she wasn’t crying, and I decided that proved how advanced she was. Big blue eyes—like her mama’s, only a different color—looked back up at me with interest.
Or maybe it was gas, but I could believe what I chose.
Nearby us, in the bed that had been reassembled to actuallybea bed again, Willow was sound asleep. She deserved that rest, I thought; she’d powered through labor and delivery like a champ, even if she hadn’t been particular kind to me in the process.
That was okay. I could forgive her for anything she said, seeing what she had gone through to give birth to the sweet angel in my arms.
