He rushed to Maria’s side, nearly tripping over the cords on the floor. She grabbed both our hands, eyes blazing. “Neither of you are allowed to pass out before I do this.”
Labor was chaos. Maria shouted, Diego paled, and I tried desperately not to lookdown there.
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
Ohmigawd, I looked.
And now I’m going to be sick. I may need to go to therapy.Again.
“Ok, push!” a nurse encouraged.
What evenwasthat—holy shit, was that a head? That was a head. That was a whole human head trying to crawl out of my best friend.
Nope. Nope nope nope.
I snapped my gaze back to Maria’s face, but it was too late, the image was seared into my brain forever. I leaned in. “You’ve got this, Maria. One more big—”
She roared, crushing our hands. I nearly blacked out from the pressure. Diego’s eyes widened as the joints in his head popped but still he murmured words of comfort in Spanish.
And then, suddenly, there it was. A wriggling, crying, absolutely horrifying little miracle.
“Ohmigawd this is so cool,” I whispered.
“I’m going to vomit,” Diego groaned.
“Don’t you dare,” Maria snapped, sweaty and glowing, clutching her baby to her chest. Diego suddenly seemed to forget all about his nausea as he leaned towards the tiny human loudly announcing its presence to the world. A perfect little girl. My throat tightened as I watched Maria cry and laugh all at once.
The room finally quieted after the storm. Machines beeped softly, nurses shuffled out with tired smiles, and Maria lay in the bed, cradling a tiny bundle swaddled so tight it looked like a burrito. Diego hovered close, eyes shining like he’d just been handed the entire galaxy.
And me? I stood off to the side, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the thing squirming in Maria’s arms had been inside her half an hour ago.
It was…incredible. Terrifying. Beautiful. All at once.
The sight of Maria’s face, sweaty, tear-streaked, glowing with relief, made my throat tighten. She looked like herself again. Sunshine Maria, but brighter. Stronger. The storm had passed and left something holy in its wake.
A nurse motioned to me, and before I could argue, I had a baby in my arms. A whole human. Tiny, warm, smelling faintly like milk and hospital sheets. She blinked up at me, her eyes dark and cloudy, little fingers curling instinctively around mine. She looked so much like her mama.
My chest clenched so hard I thought I might actually keel over.
“Hi,” I whispered, because what the hell else do you say to a brand-new person? “I’m Auntie Holly. I make bad decisions and worse jokes, but you’ll love me, I promise.”
She made a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a sigh, and my heart turned inside out.
Nope. Not happening. I couldnotbe getting emotional over a baby burrito named Jewel. That was too on the nose. Too perfect.
I shoved her gently back into Diegos’s waiting arms, my hands trembling. I could hear Maria in the shower, and headed out to the hall.
My brain betrayed me with a flash of an image I hadn’t asked for: broad shoulders in a pressed uniform, strong hands holding a baby like it was made of glass. A soft smile tugging at lips that weren’t meant for softness.
My stomach flipped.
Absolutely not.
I shook my head hard, like I could rattle the thought loose. “Oh hell no,” I muttered. “Brain, you can keep your little fantasy family slideshow to yourself. I’ve got plans. College. A business.”
Still, the ghost of that image lingered, tucked somewhere deep and traitorous. The fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed overhead, the linoleum gleamed sterile and too bright, and the adrenaline still buzzed in my veins like I’d swallowed a beehive. I leaned against the wall and pressed my palms to my eyes.
