“I remember how pissed you were about attending Oktoberfest for Ben’s bachelor party.” Marcus’s tone turns light as he smirks. “Imagine if you allowed your grumpy, anti-social ass to stay at home.”
I refuse to imagine what life would be like. It’s an alternative universe, something darker for sure. My mind only pictures the now.
My reality is lazy mornings in bed with my girl, dry cereal, scratchy records, and sweet laughter. It’s a reality that felt like sand slipping through my fingers at one point. Now, it’s tangible, more precious than all the jewels on the planet, and sits perfectly in the palms of my hands.
My phone dings, and Harriet’s name lights up the screen.
Marcus smiles. “There’s the object of your affection.”
“Screw you.” I laugh and unlock my phone.
Harriet: How did it go?
Warren: He’s sad. We both are. But it’s time.
Warren: The bigger question: how did your meeting go?
Harriet: Oh, you know. There are more pressing matters at hand.
I frown.
Warren: ???
Harriet: Don’t panic.
A sentence sure to cause panic.
I pale, and Marcus notices the shift in the air.
Harriet: I’m fine.
Harriet: Tate is with me.
Harriet: But there’s a high possibility I’m in labor.
The chair clatters to the floor as I dart to my feet.
Calm. Remain calm. She’s texting, which is a good sign.
Warren: How high?
Harriet: Like 100%.
Warren: I’m on my way.
This isthe third time me or Harriet have been summoned to the hospital. I’m shaking, scared out of my wits, but I refuse to let this occasion be anything but positive.
I called her while I peeled out of the firehouse parking lot.
Harriet’s only request during her labor is calm.
So, before I enter the labor and delivery unit, I stop and breathe.
Harriet’s contractions are close together, but far enough apart that I had time to collect the hospital bags and triple-check the car seat. It’s progressing a lot quicker than most first time moms, and right after we hung up the phone, her water broke.
I’m buzzed through the double doors and directed down the corridor. I stop in my tracks at the sight of a tall man standing guard outside Harriet’s room. Thanks to my shameless Google searches, I quickly determine him to be Tate Brooks.
I’m not sure what to think of him. No one has technically said a bad word about the guy, and he drove Harriet here, but he’s also Talia’s ex. Or soon to be? Somewhere, hidden in the thick book of Girl Code, there’s an answer. I stick to being cordial as I approach him and stick out my hand.
