That was much better.
“You can always call him that,” I said. “I know people who go by their middle names.”
Bette was smiling when we reached the crib, her focus on the bundle inside. “Maybe I will.”
She bent and scooped her son into her arms, and I leaned forward. It was strange how excited I was to meet Warren, but I was. I was even more surprised by the wave of awe that swept through me when I saw his perfect little pink face peeking out from the blanket bundled around him.
“He’s beautiful, Bette,” I said, tearing up.
“He is, isn’t he?” She stared at him in awe for a few seconds before lifting her gaze to me. “Do you want to hold him?”
“Um…” I’d never held a baby before, so I wasn’t sure.
“You have to hold him.” Bette gestured to the chair that had recently been brought in. “Sit in the rocker.”
I obeyed, taking a seat in the rocking chair then holding my arms out so she could pass the baby to me. He was so tiny, so light, yet his existence was such a miracle. It almost made me understand why the powers that be had brought us here. Almost, because I was still being held against my will.
Bette stifled a yawn, causing me to look up from her son.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she said, “and a little sore, but not bad. Labor was fast, thankfully, and they gave me drugs. Thank God.”
That was something I hadn’t even thought about, mainly because I didn’t want to focus on anything that had to do with being pregnant or giving birth. It was a relief to hear, however, that when it was my turn, I would be able to take something for the pain.
The baby made a little noise that reminded me of a kitten, and I looked down to find his mouth scrunched up. I was afraid he was going to start crying, so I stiffened, but after a sigh of contentment, his face once again relaxed.
“He’s such a – ” Bette began, but her words were cut off by a phone ringing.
Surprised, I looked up, then watched as Bette crossed to the bedside table. A phone sat on top of it. Where had that come from, and did that mean she was able to make phone calls?
When she’d picked up the receiver, she held it to her ear and said, “Hello?”
Whoever was on the other line must have been talking, and apparently my friend wasn’t thrilled by whatever they were saying, because she pressed her lips together as she listened, an expression of irritation on her face.
“I’m fine, Hilary,” she said after a few seconds. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”
Hilary. No wonder Bette looked annoyed.
The conversation, which consisted of Hilary doing most of the talking, went on for another minute or so before Bette said goodbye and hung up.
She grimaced as she walked back to me. “She’s bringing me dinner.”
“I better head out, then. She’ll give both of us a lecture if she finds me here.” I stood, eased the baby into Bette’s arms, then nodded to the phone. “When did you get that?”
“After I gave birth,” she said, bouncing her son gently. “It doesn’t call outside the hotel. Just Hilary or the doctor if I need something.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed but not surprised. “Did they at least let you talk to your husband?”
Bette’s lips formed an unhappy scowl. “No, but Hilary swears that’s coming. I don’t know if I believe her.”
“What about going home?” I asked. “Did they say anything about that?”
“She says they’re still waiting for the Department of Fertility to finalize guidelines and that whatever happens, I should knowthat they have my best interest in mind.”
God, this woman sucked.
“Well,” I said, “I know you want it to happen, so I hope it does.”
