Aiken
April
Tiny beads of sweat beaded across Claire’s forehead. There was a small blood vessel that had burst under her eye. I took in the slight reddish-blue vein marking her otherwise flawless skin.
She was still fucking gorgeous.
Stunning, with her dark hair tied back, no makeup, cheeks red from exertion, pink nightshirt falling off her shoulder, no bra, her tits full and loose under her shirt.
“Want an ice chip?” I was a fool to ask, but I needed to know.
“Nooo,” she growled. “This is ridiculous, Aiken. I’m too old for this. I’m not supposed to be doing this, or anything closely related to this. This isn’t natural.” She grunted the last part, gritting her teeth, and I tried to subdue my laugh.
“Yeah, I know. For fuck’s sake, I just turned thirty-two. I should be anywhere but here. I should be at Juicey’s.”
She glared at me in the most evil fashion, and then she gave a yelp.
“By the way, watch your language.”
I didn’t have time to apologize…
“Ow, it hurts.” She arched off the bed. “Aiken.” My name was a whimper from her lips.
Moving closer to her side, I ran an ice cube around her lips and along her brow.
“Give me your hand,” she barked, and I did just that.
She squeezed hard, and I didn’t dare say another word about my age or hers—I never mentioned hers.
“I need a doctor, not you. Sorry. I need someone who knows what they’re doing. I need this thing out. Now.”
“I can’t go get one…love.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Unless you let go of my hand.”
“Go.” She immediately released me and shoved me off the bed.
After sprinting to the nurses’ station, I hurried a nurse back to my wife, who declared it was time.
Go time.
Time to meet our baby.
Our son. We knew it was a boy after all the tests we’d endured.
Because of my age, Claire had reminded me every step of the way.Don’t you want to do this with some young thing who will bounce back like nothing, be romping around in a bikini in no time?she’d asked too often.
I’d ignored her in earnest, treasuring every test and each sonogram.You’ll be in a bikini in no time.
The room morphed into some sort of spacelike studio. Cables and bars appeared out of nowhere, and my Claire was spread open, a doctor now between her legs, my lips next to her ear. Crouched on the floor next to the bed, I told my knees to shut up, and I told my wife how much I loved her, what a wonderful mother she was going to be…I bit my lip from detailing what I was going to do to her when she was all healed up.
I was younger, but not stupid.
“Okay, Claire, when you feel the urge, give me a little push.”
All of a sudden, Claire let out a loud roar, followed by, “I should’ve got the epidural,” and then a grunt and some weird short breaths. I steadied myself and remained stoic, thinking of how the cows did it back home.
No judgment.
“Breathe,” I told her. She panted and continued to push. Her ears sparkled with purple, and I smiled, knowing a small part of Abby was with us today. The nursery was painted lavender and blue, a mural of the sky lining the ceiling.
