Except, ten minutes later, I’m standing behind Andy Honeyman, a thirty-something CEO with perfectly styled hair and an ego to match, who’s been droning on about his startup’s latest funding round, when I feel my slacks dampen on the inside of my thigh.
I freeze mid-cut, my eyes going wide as I attempt to look down, seeing nothing past my big belly. That’s when my stomach lurches again, and I grip Andy’s chair to hold myself up. A sheen of perspiration starts to coat my neck and chest as I remind myself to breathe. Just breathe. But the warm sensation increases until my entire left leg feels wet.
My mind screams.
No. No, no, no! This wasn’t supposed to happen today. She’s full-term, yes, but I’m not mentally prepared to have her yet. Plus, Patton’s not here. And I don’t have my hospital bag.
But it’s okay. Just breathe, Nisha. It’s going to be okay. You just need to call Patton and let him know that he needs to meet you at the hospital.
Everything is going to be okay.
“—I mean, Andreessen Horowitz is calling us the next Tesla,” Andy continues to babble, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m practically bowled over. “I told my assistant to book me a bigger jet. Can’t have the CEO of a potentially multi-billion-dollar unicorn company flying economy.”
I take a gulp of air. “Andy, I—uh . . . I think we’ll have to reschedule.”
Turning, Andy finally blinks, peering down at my drenched slacks, his face contorting with disgust. “Uh . . . is thatnormal?”
“That depends,” I say through gritted teeth, stumbling to my door, “on if you consider going into labornormal.”
“Oh, God.” Andy jumps out of the chair. “Are you—are you having a baby? Like,right now?”
“Yes, I’d say the process has officially begun.”
“Oh . . . it’s just that I have this meeting I can’t be late to, and?—”
This piece of human shit.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry, Andy,” I bite out. “Clearly, I should have checked your calendar before letting my water break.”
I clutch the door handle for dear life as another wave of pain passes through me before finally flinging the door open. “Sarina! Piper!”
My sister and best friend appear almost instantly, taking in the scene—me still holding the door handle, doubled over, while Andy gapes like a fish out of water.
“Yup, her water just broke,” Sarina informs anyone who might still be clueless, springing into action. Grabbing towels from a cabinet behind her, she points to our best friend. “Piper, you get the car, and I’ll help her get in.”
I fumble for my phone in my pocket. “I need to call—” I pant, then groan in pain. “I need to call Patton.”
“I’ll call him from the car, Neesh,” Piper says, running to her suite to grab her purse and keys. “Let’s just get to the hospital.”
Still, I press Patton’s contact number, walking at a snail’s pace toward the exit. It rings the standard four times before going to voicemail.Dammit.
“Patton,” I say with as much calm as I can muster. “I’m . . . I’m on my way to the hospital. Our baby is coming.”
Sarina places towels on the backseat of Piper’s car, helping me inside as gently as possible before yanking the seat belt across my lap. She comes to the other side, sitting next to me. “Okay, Piper, hit the gas. We’re ready to go.” She squeezes my hand, a grin breaking over her face despite the chaos. “You’re having this baby, sis! I’m going to be an aunty!”
“Me, too!” Piper squeals, gunning it like she’s trying to qualify for Formula 1.
I sink into the backseat, my head against the headrest, groaning as I clutch Sarina’s hand beside me. This isn’t what I pictured for today, but I need to be thankful. Yes, Patton isn’t here, but my two best friends are, and they jumped into action. I’ve made it this far without too many complications, and that’s something to hold on to.
Now, if only my boyfriend, ex-husband, husband—whatever the hell he is—would just call me back!
A cry rips through my throat as another contraction makes me double over again.
“If I’m not mistaken, your last contraction was seven minutes ago.” Piper glances at me through the rearview mirror. “Which means we’re in the early-but-serious zone.”
And yet, still no sign of my ex-husband.
Maybe it’s the twin-telepathy she claims we have, but Sarina seems to read my mind, dialing Patton’s number and sighing when she gets his voicemail. “He’s not picking up.”
