The mini elevator, opened to the soft glow of my bedroom. A few steady steps brought me to the dresser, just in time to brace myself before another sharp pain gripped my lower back.
Slipping out of my house clothes, I took a quick shower using the medical shower chair Gage had installed. When I hit the stage of pregnancy where I couldn’t see my feet, he had a few renovations done to my home: the bathroom shower upgraded for safety, the garage expanded to now house the Lamborghini Urus he bought for me to drive his daughter around in—as if my Mercedes wasn’t good enough—and the mini elevator so I didn’t have to walk up my cascading stairs.
He was always concerned about my comfort and safety. Even when I pretended, I didn’t need the help… I did.
“Ugh, why hasn’t he called me back by now?” I huffed, breathing through another contraction.
After finishing my shower and maneuvering around the tightening in my abdomen, I moisturized my body, brushed my teeth, and completed my fragrance routine. Labor could take hours, and I wasn’t about to be uncomfortable and smell like anything less than edible.
I slipped into a loose maxi dress, slid my socked feet into sneakers, grabbed my coat and keys, and made my way to the truck to wait for Amber.
We pulled up to the hospital, and I swear Amber jumped out before she even put the truck in park.
“You can’t park here,” security said, approaching the vehicle.
I opened the passenger side door as Amber retrieved my bags from the trunk.
“Dr. St. James?” the guard gasped. “Here, let me help you.”
He took my hand and helped me out of the truck, then called for wheelchair assistance on his walkie.
“That’s more like it, Carter, ‘cause I was prepared to lay all into your ass,” Amber said. “Park Dr. St. James' car in her spot, please and thank you. Punk-ass nigga,” she muttered.
“Amber!” I laughed as two nurses helped me into the wheelchair. “Be nice.”
“Nah, he doesn’t do his job any other time, but when he sees it’s females, he's all tough and shit. Little ass uniform.”
“Ouch,” I said, even though I was still laughing. The contractions I was feeling now were strong enough to make my eyes water.
Inside, the staff lit up seeing it was me being checked into the maternity suite.
“Dr. St. James! It’s time?” one nurse gasped.
Taking over the wheelchair from the nurse and pushing me to my assigned room, Amber whispered in my ear, “Why are they so excited to see you? Your ass be working them like mules.”
“Bitch, I have no clue, but if I mysteriously become somnolent, don’t let them all come playing in my vagina.”
We laughed in unison as Amber pointed her index finger at me, indicating that she had my back.
The birthing unit was cozy and warm, with flowers stationed on a table that read "Welcome." The radiant warmer, located across from the bed, would soon become the host spot for my baby girl. I’d seen these rooms hundreds of times as a doctor, but looking through the eyes of a patient was a different feeling. I was both excited and scared—and to be honest, that wasn’t a good feeling.
The room seemed smaller. The tools seemed bigger. The lights seemed brighter. Every sound was amplified—from wheels rolling to monitors beeping. I didn’t feel myself exhaling untilI was changed into the hospital gown and hooked up to the monitors.
Amber hovered beside me. She took a soft brush and tended to my hair, knowing I would want it pulled back into a ponytail.
“One to ten, how bad is the pain?” she asked.
“Twelve.”
“Then why the hell are you not screaming? Girl, you over here looking like a runway model, smelling all good and shit, talking about your pain istwelve.”
I laughed. “’Cause I’m thinking about the pleasure that got me here,” I sighed, forcing a grin.
She snorted. “Speaking of pleasure—did he call back?”
I shook my head. “No. He’s on vacation and probably has his phone off.”
“Uh-uh. He loves you. It’s that fire-head, struck-match-looking bitch that turned it off if it is. I mean, I can’t be too mad at her, though. I’d probably turn Creed’s phone off too if he had a bad bitch baby mama.”
